


The Ghost Under My Bed

by for_autumn_i_am



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Cock Worship, Frottage, Ghost!Hux, Ghosts, Happy Ending, M/M, Masturbation, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Witch!Kylo, Witches, benarmie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-24
Updated: 2018-02-24
Packaged: 2019-03-23 09:51:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 19,525
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13784979
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/for_autumn_i_am/pseuds/for_autumn_i_am
Summary: Amateur witch, aspiring actor and full-time family fuckup Ben Solo discovers that his house is being haunted. Best part? His very own poltergeist, Armitage Hux, is kinda cute. Worst part? Well. He's dead.





	The Ghost Under My Bed

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Призрак под моей кроватью](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16506944) by [iamAnchoress](https://archiveofourown.org/users/iamAnchoress/pseuds/iamAnchoress)



> Please refer to the end notes for **content warnings**

_First encounter_

 

“So, let’s go through what happened,” Rey said.

“Not much  _happened,_ per se,” Ben corrected her, then glimpsed at Finn, who was listening eagerly.

They were sitting around a ritual circle, drawn with chalk on the floor of Ben’s bedroom; Rey marked the four cardinal directions with crystals, and Finn had provided the candles. Ben’s phone was in the middle. He had to admit it kinda looked like they were about to sacrifice it to Steve Job’s ghost.

“You told me there was something going on with the cat,” Rey urged him.

Ben adjusted the shawl covering his shoulders distractedly. “She’s acting weird.”

“Cats are weird,” Finn noted with a fond smile.

“It’s not even  _our_ cat,” Ben said. “She was just sort of here.”

Finn spread his arms, bracelets jingling, and shrugged. “That's how most people get a cat: if you don't adopt one, they adopt you.”

“Ben thinks his room is being haunted,” Rey interrupted. Ben shot her a pointed glance.

“It’s  _my_ story.”

“You’re taking forever telling it!”

“Hey, hey, hey,” Finn shushed them, sounding slightly alarmed. “A  _ghost_? This house is newly built, right? And you’ve been living here for like what, three weeks?”

“It might still be haunted,” Ben said. “That sort of stuff happens. Like it could be built on a burial ground or something.”

“You think it’s built on a burial ground,” Rey repeated flatly.

It was a chic little house in a cul-de-sac, in a fancier part of Baltimore, Maryland, conveniently close to Ben’s college. Soft sunlight was pouring in between the shades, creating bold, gold strokes on the bedroom wall, painted matte black as per Ben’s request.

“Don’t let the looks deceive you,” Ben said. “The cat is seeing something. She’s watching something under my bed. Then she climbs under it and starts purring. Spend the whole night there. I hear clawing, but it’s definitely not her. I wake up every night at 4:48.”

Finn leaned back to peer at the bed. It had an astrology-themed cover and throw pillows illustrated with animal skulls, but the overall impression wasn’t as sinister as Ben hoped it’d be.

“Seems comfy,” Finn noted. “Cats often hide when they’re in a new place, they hate change. And they purr to calm themselves down. You’ve never had a cat, right? Maybe she wakes you up at night.”

“You should see it. She’s like, following something with her gaze.”

“Mice,” Rey supplied.

“Rats,” Finn countered.

Ben scoffed. “Bigger.”

“Wombats,” Rey said, making Finn giggle. Ben rolled his eyes and unlocked his phone.

“You can leave if you can’t take it seriously, but I got a couple of questions for this ghost.”

Finn’s smile froze. “What, dude, no. No, you can’t talk to ghosts. You know it can get ugly.”

“You’re here to protect me,” Ben mumbled as he opened the voice recording app. Rey was hugging herself, staring at the candle’s flame with an unreadable expression. Finn turned to her, mouth slightly open.

“Tell him that it’s stupid! Dangerous, and stupid.”

She shrugged. “I’m kinda curious.”

“We're just going to ask some questions, and listen to the recording,” Ben said, putting the phone back to the middle.

“That's not even witchcraft,” Finn complained. “That's some Buzzfeed Unsolved bullshit.”

“Well, witchcraft hasn’t really given us anything definitive so far, has it?”

“Because you want to go full Merlin on it,” Rey said, exasperated. “Magic is more subtle. You should learn to respect it. Be mindful, and humble in your approach.”

“Yes, yes, I know, but if I ask the ghost to, I don't know, knock, we'll sit here arguing the whole day on whether the floor just creaked at random. I know it's here, and I'm getting proof.” He hit the red button on the screen. For a moment, all they heard was their breathing; there was no sound, save for Han tinkering with something in the garage, a faint  _du-dun, du-dun_.

“This won’t work,” Rey whispered. “You’re disrespecting them. They won’t show up if you don’t give them a proper invitation.”

“I command you to show yourself, ghost,” Ben said; he heard Rey mutter a bitter ‘for pity’s sake,’ but ignored it. “Give me a message.”

Silence.

 _Du-dun, du-dun_ ,  _shwroom_ , and Finn’s gasp: “There was a—”

“It was a car,” Rey murmured, leaning on an elbow, already bored.   

“I bid you to speak,” Ben said in a sharp voice. He waited a few beats, and stopped the recording. Finn let out a relieved breath, making the flame of the candle flicker.

“Phew! That was intense. Let’s never do it again.”

“We can do a cleansing ritual if you’re afraid your room is haunted,” Rey offered, but Ben wasn’t listening. He hit replay.

They heard Rey on the recording:  _this won’t work. you’re disrespecting them. they won’t show up if you don’t give them a proper invitation_

Then they heard somebody else; a soft voice, barely a whisper: _{huh}_

“Oh my god!” Finn cried. “Did you—”

“Sounded like—”

_...you to show yourself, ghost. give me a message._

_{get out get out get out}_

Finn jumped to his feet, covering his mouth with his hands and muting a scream. Ben was staring at his own reflection on the phone’s screen, wide-eyed and pale with shock. He couldn’t comprehend what was happening.

_it was a car._

_i bid you to speak—_

_{lightsoutlightsoutlightsoutlightsoutlightsoutli—}_

“Shit,” Rey mouthed. The voice was young. Male. Ben hit replay. His mind was empty.

Finn walked backwards until his back hit the door. “It’s not real, it’s not real, are you kidding me,” he whispered. He took a deep breath, shaking his head.

Then softly, the voice said: “Run.”

It sounded from so close Ben wasn’t sure the others heard it; his heart skipped a beat. Finn started yelling and yanked the door open.

“Finn!” Rey shouted, jumping up to run after him. “Stop, wait! We have to close the circle!”  

Ben was still staring at the screen. Slowly, he blinked, and a lazy grin appeared on his face.

“Gotcha,” he whispered.

*

5 MISSED CALLS

Finn: shit dude are u oK ANSWER UR PHONE???

Rey: Go around the circle anti-clockwise and repeat what’s been said backwards, leave the candles 2 burn down, clean the crystals. Leave the room. Leave your phone. Don’t sleep there 2night.

Rey: I sense that you’re safe from harm. I’m driving Finn home. He took it really badly.

Rey: Please stay safe.

Rey: There was no malevolent intent, just a profound sorrow & anger. Latter not directed at us. Idk what to do.

Rey: You can come over to dad’s? I think Finn is also staying  

Finn: GET OUT OF THAT HOUSE YOU HEARD THE GHOST BRO, GET! OUT! TELL YOUR PARENTS SHOW THEM THE RECORDING FUCK EVERYTHING

Finn: WE’RE GOING TO LUKE  AND WE’RE COMING BACK TO GET U

Ben: lol it’s ok im fine

Finn: DON’T YOU I’M FINE ME UR ASS IS BEING HAUNTED!!!!

Ben: i’m really ok

Ben: i did what needed to be done

Ben: it’s all right. don’t tell luke?  

 

*

Ben lowered his phone and looked up, watching the thin curtains billow. The circle was still open and he was sitting right in the middle, the rich honey smell of the wax candles making him dizzy. He set his phone aside. When he looked up again, somebody was sitting on his bed.

He could still see his curtain. The guy was transparent.

Ben always expected to be petrified or overjoyed about seeing a full-bodied apparition for the first time; he was just confused. The ghost had reddish hair, a cute button nose, and had checkered PJs on. He didn’t even look angry, just slightly pissed.

“Hello,” Ben said, and raised his hand in an awkward gesture.

The ghost sighed. “Oh, you do know how to greet someone properly; how charming.”

“What’s your name?” Ben asked, reaching for his phone again, then aborting the gesture.

“What’s yours, plonker?” the ghost snapped. A blink and he was by the door, looking more and more morose.

“Ben Solo,” Ben said, and then thought,  _shitting fuck_. One wasn’t supposed to give away their name to supernatural beings; that was one of the first things Luke had taught him. That was why they came up with the alias of Kylo Ren in the first place; but that name had already been tainted.

“Nice to meet you Ben Solo, please don’t have satanic rituals in my room.”

“It’s wicca, it doesn’t even recognise the Judeo-Christian devil as an entity,” Ben explained. The bizarrely British ghost was back on the bed in a snap, his head hanging over the footboard as he lay there.

“A New Age kid,” he murmured. “Bloody hell. Well, good to know you. I’m Armitage Hux. Next time you want to say hi, just say hi. And stop with the candles.” With that, he vanished.

Ben felt as if some kind of pressure had been lifted from his chest; he took a deep breath and then whispered, “Armitage.”

His very own ghost.

Hell yeah.

*

“You can’t experiment with things like a summoning,” Luke insisted. He also insisted on wearing a brown sweater. It was just offensively ugly. Ben remembered a time when Luke wouldn’t leave the house without a designer jacket and a man purse. So much had changed.

“It wasn’t a summoning,” he said, trying to sink as deep into the sofa as he could and disappear. Luke’s piercing blue eyes were the same. It always felt like he could see right through him. “We were just messing around. It wasn’t even a ritual. We just cast a circle for protection and that’s it.”

“Rey tells me there was still a result,” Luke said. Both of them glanced at the counter separating the living room from the kitchen; there was a noise, almost as if somebody hiding behind it accidentally kicked something over. Somebody like Han. He’d pulled that shit before.

“It was just a scam,” Ben said, still eyeing the counter. Was it Armitage? “I was messing with them. I faked the evidence.”

“Why would you do that?” Luke asked, furrowing his brows. Oh, there it was, that familiar look of disappointment. It never failed to make Ben want to grit his teeth.

“I thought it was funny. It’s an um, an app? It uh, plays creepy shit over your recording. I was going to explain it to them.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“Because they ran away,” Ben said, hugging a pillow so he wouldn’t feel so alone getting his ass roasted by the Spanish inquisition. He kept his eyes on the counter. He didn’t need to look at Luke.

“They ran because they were terrified,” Luke raised his voice.

“Don’t come to my house to yell at me,” Ben snapped.

“I’m not the one yelling.” He gesticulated around with his prosthetic hand, the movement catching Ben’s gaze.  “Your parents bought this house to give you a new start and to protect you until you finish your studies. They didn’t give up on you, not even after what happened with your friends and Snoke—”

“Oh, let’s keep bringing up Snoke!” Ben shouted, getting to his feet. “That’s sure to help my recovery! You all behave like I should be  _grateful_ that you gave a shit about my fate, like I don’t know, I wasn’t even deserving of pity!”

“Ben—”

“Forget it!” He trotted to the counter, gripped the edge and leant over. There was nobody behind it.

 

_Second Encounter_

 

At 4:48 the scratching began: short nails over wood. _Let me out. Let me out._  Groggy and still sulking, Ben peered around the room, looking for the cat among the formless, blue shapes.  She was crouched down in a spot of moonlight, staring at something under Ben’s bed. He hit the mattress with a fist.

“Quit it,” he pleaded, drawing out the vowels.

“I’m not doing this for fun,” Armitage said. Ben rubbed at his eyes. He didn’t expect a reply.

“Why are you doing it, then?” he asked, voice hoarse with sleep.

“None of your business, dickhead.”

“Oh, wow. See if I care, asshole.” Ben hit the mattress again. Armitage kicked it in answer; the iron frame was shaking with the force of it. Muttering, Ben got to his feet, gathered his blankets, and went to the armchair to get some fucking rest. The cat meowed as he passed her; it sounded as if she was judging him.

*

Ben woke cocooned and cozy, but with an ache in his neck which would last the whole day. He yawned and wiggled around a bit to find a better position.

“Good morning, Armitage,” he muttered. No answer came. “Are you there?” He had to be; it was unreasonably chilly for an early September morning. Cold spots meant ghosts. “Sorry for calling you names, I was uh. I wanted to sleep.”

Nothing. With a displeased frown he reached for his phone. He had a bunch of notifications, mostly angry messages from Rey and disappointed texts from Finn. He let the phone drop from his hands. Maybe everything would be better if he went back to sleep.

“Mwaah,” the cat said. It was pawing at the door.

“Coming,” Ben murmured, and got to his feet. The floor was freezing.

*

Around midday he stumbled upon Leia in the kitchen. She was on her phone, as always, and between meetings, judging by her power suit. She nodded to Ben as he entered, still in the briefs and T-shirt he’d slept in, hair a mess.

“Poe’s just grabbing lunch and offered to drop by, you want something?”

“I’m twenty-three, I’m perfectly capable of feeding myself without the help of your intern,” Ben muttered, and got to the fridge to look through his options. It was virtually empty.

“He’s at that Asian fusion place,” Leia said, raising an eyebrow. Damn it. Ben was living for their bamboo risotto but now it was a question of honour.

“I’m good, thank you.” He got a box of bland oatmeal. “Where’s dad?”

Leia raised a finger, signalling him to wait, and went on to chat with Poe. Fucking typical. Ben put on the water to boil and leant to the counter, watching Leia dart up and down as she voiced some strong opinions on calamari. She was an unstoppable force, so full of determined energy it was sometimes exhausting to watch; Ben rarely saw her sitting down unless she had a laptop in her lap with about forty tabs open.   

Ben prepared his oatmeal in silence and headed back to his room. Leia was still on the phone, and Han might have gone MIA for all he knew. He looked back over his shoulder.

“Love you,” he said. It sounded flat, but he meant it. He’d promised himself he’d never stop looking for ways to say ‘thank you’ to Leia, for everything she’d done, for everything she was.

She lowered the phone. “I know.”

They exchanged careful smiles. Ben fucked off, his throat feeling too tight all of a sudden.

*

He couldn’t get anything done that day. He was reading Sarah Kane out loud, spread out on the floor, but his mind kept wandering and he had to re-read the pages several times and try again. His acting courses would continue in late September and he wanted to be prepared. He’d almost dropped out when all the shit with Snoke went down. He felt like he needed to prove he still had a place there.

“‘I will drown in dysphoria, in the cold black pond of my self, the pit of my immaterial mind,” he read, voice rich, deep, soothing like the promise of oblivion. “How can I return to form, now that my formal thought has gone? Not a life I could countenance.’”

It reminded him of Armitage.

*

At 4:48, he whispered to the dark: “Are you still mad?”

He might’ve imagined hearing a sigh.

 

_Third Encounter_

 

Ben woke from a half-remembered dream horny and hard, and reached into his briefs with his eyes still closed. There was something truly special about jacking off in the morning, the warmth of sleep still lingering on the sheets. He loved building up a slow pace at times like this; teasing himself, playing with the tip, tugging at the shaft and then letting it fall from his hand just to grab it again and fuck into his fist, slow, sluggish.

“Well, don’t mind me,” Armitage said from under the bed. Ben’s eyes flew open; his cock twitched in his hand, enthusiastic about the company, before he tucked it away hastily.

“What the fuck, dude!”

“Whatever you were doing, it sounded painful. Use lotion.”

“Dude!” Ben repeated, outraged. Memories of his first night spent in this room came back from three weeks ago: he’d come like four times imagining pounding some eager twink. For fuck’s sake, he’d used a DIY toy made out of a  towel and a latex glove. Had Armitage been present then? Shit. He probably had been. Fucking stalker.

“What,” Armitage said, bored.

“How about some respect for my personal boundaries, huh? For a start!”

Armitage seemed to consider it, then said, “For your information, personal boundaries don’t really matter once you’re dead. We will all be dead. Deep down we all believe we’re immortal, and then we die.”

“Thanks for killing my boner,” Ben snapped. “Don’t ever stalk me again.”

“I’m not stalking you. You come into my room to wank. That’d be rude if I gave a rat’s ass. As it happens, I don’t. Eating, sleeping, fucking, picking your nose; no fun unless you’re the one doing it.”  

Ben almost felt bad. Worrying his hands, he stared into his lap. His cock lay limp and sad beneath his briefs.

“We should figure out something for this,” he said. “I was close.”

“Think about all the orgasms  _I_  won’t ever have, then be my guest in feeling sorry for  _yourself_.”

Ben bit his lips, then his tongue, but he couldn’t help but ask, “How did you die?”

There was a beat.

“I died of blue balls,” Armitage said, mock-glum, then he went silent again.

*

Rey dropped by, pressing on the doorbell like a maniac. Ben had pretended he wasn't home, but she just got in through the window.

“What’s up with you, Ben?” she asked, screwing the panes back as if casually breaking in was no big deal. Ben watched her from the stairs, too anxious to risk a direct approach. Rey was good at kicking his ass, and she looked ready to do just that.

“I’m good,” he said in a somewhat high-pitched voice.

“That’s great, that’s wonderful to hear.” She dusted off her hands and got to her feet. “Finn feels like crap. So do I. Thanks for that.”

This was Ben's cue to say sorry. _Sorry; to the surprise of no one, I fucked up again. Sorry, I'm trash_. Rey wanted to hear it, so he didn’t say it. He was kinda fed up with Rey always getting her wishes granted. A golden child. A precious favourite.

“I’m not buying your bullshit, by the way,” Rey said. “It wasn’t a prank with some silly app. I felt something. So did Finn.”

“I felt it too,” Ben said. “But that was the point. We always feel like we feel something, something super vague. I just wanted to show you what it was like if something actually—”

“Bullshit,” Rey scoffed, and headed for the living room. Ben followed at a reluctant distance. He watched her make herself comfortable on the couch like she fucking owned the place. She put her dirty boots over the coffee table and turned on the TV. The cat joined her, the little traitor. Rey rubbed her ears.

“Did you just come by to tell me off and watch NatGeo?”

“Nah, Uncle Han is coming back today, I wanted to say hi,” Rey muttered, petting the cat which lawfully belonged to Ben’s part of the family, her attention focused on what appeared to be a documentary on carnivorous plants. Ben watched a worm get crushed by Venus’ flytrap.

“He’s coming back today?” he asked. No one fucking told him. Rey didn’t answer.  

*

Ben was listening to the laughter from downstairs, Uncle Chewie’s roaring guffaws and Rey’s giggles as Han recounted some tall tale. Fine. He didn’t give a shit. No one asked for him to come down, so he wouldn’t. He’d just sit by his desk and chew on a pencil while glaring holes into the wall.

“You seem rather upset,” Armitage noted.

“Why do you care?” Ben murmured.

“Why do you think? I’m bored.”

He shouldn’t give Armitage so much attitude. The reason he’d come up with that shitty lie about a prank app was just to protect Armitage, so Rey or Finn wouldn’t do an exorcism, and he could talk with a ghost all he wanted. That was something not even Grandfather could do.

“You fill the room with sorrow,” Armitage noted.

“That’s very poetic.”

“It’s not poetic. It’s what you’re literally doing.”

Ben turned to the voice, not expecting to see Armitage take a form; he had to do a double-take. There he was, opaque as ever, a shadow of a dead boy, dressed in Ivy League snobbery. Ben didn’t know ghosts could change clothes. Had his knitted sweater died as well? It looked dead.

“You’re staring,” Armitage said.

“There’s a ghost standing in the middle of my room. I’m gonna stare.”

“Fair enough.”

“What were you like?” Ben asked, turning with his revolving chair to face him fully.

Armitage frowned. “What do you mean?”

“We’re practically roommates,” Ben explained, “and I don’t know anything about you.”

“What do you want to know?”

Ben shrugged. “Anything you’re willing to share.”

Armitage put his hands into his pockets, an oddly nervous gesture. What sort of emotions did he have besides melancholy and anger? Ben tilted his head, interest piqued. Armitage was avoiding his gaze.

“I’m Armitage Hux. I’m twenty-eight; I died when I was twenty-three. I’m British. I’m, er, I was studying political science. My supervisor was Dr. Rae Sloane; perhaps you’ve heard about her.”

“Nah. You’re twenty-eight?”

Armitage frowned again, whole face scrunching up. It was charming in a very odd way. “You chose the least interesting information from my bio.”

“I think I’d stop counting birthdays if I died,” Ben said, as gently as he could.

“Well. I didn’t.”

There was a pause.

“So. You lived here all alone?” Ben wasn’t sure if he was asking a ghost whether or not he was single. He might have.

Armitage rolled his eyes. “What? In this economy?” It might’ve been a trick of the lights but he seemed to solidify somewhat — Ben could hardly see the clothes rack behind him. “No. No, it was me and Papa and the mortgage. I was just about to sod off to the UK. I was so close. Could’ve gotten out earlier but Rae said — I’ve had the privilege of knowing her since I was five — she said I should wait until I could make sure I wouldn’t be back begging for money. It was solid advice, so that’s what I did. I got an offer for a full scholarship at Cambridge. A chance at genuine independence. Rae helped me with my visa. Everything was ready.” He dimmed, translucent again. “It was December. Papa blackmailed me to wait until Christmas. We had eggnog and pudding, and his girlfriend came over. Then it all went to hell.”

“Is there hell?” Ben asked, afraid to comment on the personal details. Armitage was no more than a shadow and an echo.

“I haven’t been. I wouldn’t know. I don’t know what’s real anymore. I never believed in the afterlife. It’s unscientific. I was convinced my personality would vanish as my brain stopped functioning; a sense of self is just a delusion after all, so I thought there would be nothing to remain of me. Nothing makes sense now. Why am I still here? Where am I going? Where’s the logic?”

Darkness grew in the room, and the window fogged up, like it was raining outside.

“I can help you,” Ben said, earnest. “I’ll find a way. I promise. I’m so sorry that you had to go through— Are you still here? Listen to me, it’s gonna be okay, I give you my word it’s—”

The door opened and the gloom was gone from the room just like that.

“Who were you talking to?” Han asked, waltzing in with Chewie.

Ben cleared his throat. “I was practicing a soliloquy.”

Han hugged him as he was still sitting; his jacket smelling of gasoline, and his arms stiff. Ben wanted to bury his face into the leather and remain like that for a few secs, but that would’ve been weird. They were new to hugging as it was; better not push his luck. Han pulled back looking a bit lost, as if he was unsure how to proceed after one showed affection to their son.

Ben spared him the embarrassment of eye contact and turned away, greeting Chewie in Maori. Chewie told him he looked like shit.

“ _Tēnā rawa atu koe_ ,” Ben murmured as a way of thanks. Chewie had always been blunt, but before the shit hit the fan Ben could always tell it was just playful banter, however straight-faced Chewie remained. Now he was paranoid about him;  he could tell Chewie had never forgiven him for pushing Han off that bridge.  

“We’re taking Rey to fly, you wanna come?” Han asked.

“Why are you taking her to fly?”

Han shrugged and touched Ben’s crystal ball. He tensed. Putting your energy all over someone else’s stuff was just rude. “She wanted to come. I told her about the job.”

“Yeah, how was it?” Ben asked flatly. Han didn’t seem to notice that his priorities were off between his son and his niece. He was a weather modification pilot; farmers would call him to fly into storms and chase away the clouds. It was a hazardous and fascinating job, and Ben always wanted to hear the stories (preferably, be the first to hear them) but he also hated Han for still doing this reckless shit and making Ben worry about whether he’d return in one piece.

“It was fun,” Han summed up. “Come on, I’ll tell you all about it on the plane.”

“I think I’ll pass, but thank you,” Ben said. Chewie gave him a glare. He couldn’t tell whether it was supposed to be in jest or, if it was a warning, what it was a warning for. Han just shrugged again.

“Suit yourself. How’s mac’n’cheese for dinner?”

“Great,” Ben lied through his teeth. Han’s mac’n’cheese was always too sticky. He made it from canned cheese. Han hesitated for a second, and Ben hoped he’d sit down and stay a little longer, but then Han made a beeline for the door. Ben’s shoulders dropped.

“Talk to you later, champ,” Han said, and Chewie warned him to behave while they were away.  

They forgot to close the door.

Ben just sat there, listening to Rey’s excited chatter from downstairs and Han’s answering laughter.

“That didn’t go well,” Armitage said from under the bed.

“Three cheers for Team Daddy Issues,” Ben muttered. The door closed seemingly by its own accord. Ben straightened up, impressed. So Armitage could move objects. That was nice. That was something to take his mind off his misery. He turned to the bed, reminding himself that the ghost living under it had it far worse than him. Was that supposed to be comforting? He just felt a pang of pity. “Are you hiding?” he asked in a conspiring whisper.

“I don’t want your shiny friend to come in here,” Armitage said, sounding very uncomfortable.

“You mean Rey?”

“The girl or the boy. Any of them. They’re glowing and it’s irritating.”

“That’s why you said ‘lights out?’”

“Beg your pardon?”

“The first time we met,” Ben said. “You kept repeating ‘lights out’ on the recording.”

“Ah,” Armitage said. “No, I just wanted to say some creepy nonsense and scare you to death.  You keep track of our encounters?”

“Do I shine?” Ben asked.

Armitage waited a bit with his answer, the dragged-out silence heavy like a stone in the pit of Ben’s stomach. “You’re dark. I hope that doesn’t upset you. It’s a very comfortable darkness, like the one you see behind your closed eyelids. Familiar. Unthreatening.”

“Right,” Ben said, and had to clear his throat before he could continue. “Isn’t there, like. A shimmer. Or—”

“I just told you there’s nothing wrong with—”

“Is there something?” Ben interrupted him sharply. There was a beat.

“You can still see the sun when you close your eyes,” Armitage said slowly.

“Thank you. Sorry. I’ve been through that dark shit and I’m uh, I’m kinda, I was hoping—”

“‘Nature has no principles. It makes no distinction between good and evil.’ Antone France. The night and the day don’t signify anything.”

Ben let out a weak chuckle. “You still believe that?”

“If there are malevolent forces or indeed, good ones, you know what? They can all kiss my petite arse.”

Ben laughed at that.  He heard the front door close, and the voices of Chewie and Rey as they walked to the car. It didn’t matter. Let them leave. He wouldn’t be left alone this time around.

*

He set his alarm to 4:30 a.m. He was dedicated in keeping his promise and helping Armitage, however powerless he felt. He kept thinking about Christmas, still snow and anticipation in the air. He was probably eating the remnants of  sufganiyot and rugelachs for breakfast on a day Armitage would never live to see. He expected to hear the usual scratching, and planned to gently intervene; instead, around 4:40, he started hearing coughing. It sounded so faint he wondered whether Han had just got a cold or something.

“Armitage?” he whispered just in case.

The coughing turned into an ugly wheezing and there was a soft thud—a body falling to the floor. The scratching began. It wasn’t 4:48 yet; five minutes left.  It gave Ben chills to think what sound woke him up every night, if it wasn’t Armitage choking, falling down, and clawing at the floor; he just couldn’t bear to listen any longer.

“Hey!” he hissed, flicking the light on. “Armitage, it’s okay, hey. It’s September, 2017. You’re in Baltimore. You’re safe.”

“What’s up with the shrink talk?” Armitage asked from under the bed; the scratching continued but Ben felt too relieved to care.

“I’m providing you emotional support,” he announced.  

Armitage let out a sad, fond laugh. “Go back to sleep, idiot.”

“Not happening,” Ben said, crossing his arms in front of his chest. “I’m staying up with you.”

“Are we like, nine?”

“I could read you a bedtime story.”

Armitage made a strange sound at that, somewhere between pleasantly surprised and scared. “I wouldn’t be against it, actually, if you insist. I enjoy hearing you reading.”

“Ah. Haha. You do?”

“I can’t exactly, well, stop this, but if you can wait a bit—or you know what, bugger all, just start.”

Ben knew better now than to ask why Armitage had to go on clawing the floor, and looked through the pile of books on his nightstand, careful not to knock over his crystals and succulents.

“They’re all dramas, just so you know, and I  _won’t_  do the voices, I want to just be like, myself. We have  _Shopping and Fucking_  — maybe not that — Brecht, no, you’ve suffered enough; how about  _A Number?”_

“What is it about?” Armitage asked. His voice was deceivingly casual, as if they were just having a chat and he wasn’t in any hellish anguish.

“It’s about a father whose son dies in a car accident, so he makes a clone of him,” he said, trying to talk loud enough to suppress the noise of nails on wood. “The scientists steal the DNA and make copies of him; the father meets with three of the clones; the first is very existential, the second is aggressive, and the third one is infuriatingly normal.”

“You just spoiled the whole thing, but I’m still intrigued,” Armitage said. “It’s a fitting choice for Team Daddy Issues, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, I guess,” Ben grinned, and sat up. He put the volume over his lap and looked through the lines of broken dialogue.

Armitage said he enjoyed his performances.

With his ears burning, he started to read.

The scratching stopped.

 

_Fourth Encounter_

 

He woke with a headache, utterly drained but still in high spirits. Armitage didn’t answer his cheery ‘good morning,’ but that was okay. For a start it was past 1pm, so the greeting wasn’t appropriate anyway.  

Ben made himself a coffee in the kitchen. For the first time, moving around in a huge,  empty house didn’t put him on edge. He brought his cup to the bathroom, sipping from it as he went through his morning routine, then left it over the sink as he stepped into the shower. He cleaned up quickly, lingering to enjoy the warm water and the steam mixing with the scent of his cinnamon soap. He started stroking his cock almost as an afterthought, just to make everything even more pleasant.

He closed his eyes, lost in the moment. He tried to imagine someone there with him, hugging him from behind, bringing him off leisurely, but his thoughts wandered to Armitage — Armitage lying in his bed wearing PJs, like he did the first day; Armitage from the night before, listening to him; an imagined Armitage with a cup of tea, wearing that hideous sweater, making some mean comment while sitting on the kitchen counter. He was so pretty; soft lines, harsh words, long legs, lean frame, the slightest suggestion of a tummy. Damn, he wanted to touch that tummy so badly.

He was just beginning to wonder whether what he was doing counted as necrophilia when Armitage said, “Um, I guess you should know that I’m present.”

Ben jumped, dropped his hand and grabbed the shower curtain. It was too late to draw it in. Armitage was sitting on the toilet like it was an ordinary chair, fully clothed, coat and boots included.    

“Sorry,” he said.

“Can you read my mind?” Ben asked, still gripping the shower curtain. The railing creaked.

“No. Thank God, no.” He gave Ben a self-conscious smile. “Were you thinking about me?”

Ben licked his lips. “What if I was?”

“Pervert,” Armitage said, but his smile widened. “Was I any good?”

His voice was doing things to Ben. He tried to shield his flagging erection, but he knew it was goddamn obvious.

“I don’t think it’s over,” he said, and hastily added. “If you don’t think it’s weird, that is. I mean, I have plenty of like, jerk off material, so if—”

“‘Jerk off material,’” Armitage repeated, imitating his accent. He leant back, legs crossed, not giving any indication that he was about to leave. Ben stood there a bit hapless, the water beating down on him and his cock aching for release.

“Would you like to watch?” he asked softly. He wasn’t sure what he was offering exactly, what it would all lead to, and he was afraid Armitage would just answer with a disgusted sneer, _are you for real, Jesus, I was only joking you fucking—_

“Proceed,” Armitage said, face blank, but something mischievous flashed in his eyes for a moment. Ben turned to face the teal tiled wall, so he’d stand in profile and wouldn’t have to look at Armitage—he wouldn’t last that way. If it all turned out to be Armitage’s idea of some practical prank, he didn’t care. He was a young man with certain impulses, all perfectly natural, and if someone from beyond the grave told him he wasn’t allowed to play with himself; he’d give them the finger.

The idea of giving Armitage the finger was a good one. A teasing finger up his ass as he prepped him; for the sake of the scenario he envisioned Armitage as flesh and blood, PJ pants pulled down to reveal that peachy ass.

He made a show of adding an abundance of lotion and heard Armitage chuckle. Armitage was perfect as he was;  _whatever_  he was; the knowledge that he was watching was better than any fantasy. Was he turned on by this? Ben could ask, but he was afraid it’d ruin the moment.

He pressed his lotion-wet cock to his stomach and started rubbing it, up and down and then sideways. He hoped it’d subtly guide Armitage’s attention to his eight-pack. A big, fat dick wasn’t everything he could offer. He let his fingers dance over the shaft, tap and tease and lightly pinch; his head lolled back, mouth open for soundless pleasure.

“Feels so good,” he moaned, and then wondered whether he was being insensitive. Armitage had told him he couldn’t masturbate in his present state; but Ben couldn’t help but wonder whether he’d actually tested the theory.

The image of Armitage pleasuring himself almost pushed him over the edge; maybe he’d rub off as he lay face-down in the bed, his sighs swallowed by a pillow;  _Ben’s_  pillow; Armitage would bring himself off while Ben guided him through it with his voice. There must be some— some spell, some ritual— being watched was nice, but fuck, he wanted to give back, he wanted to make Armitage feel as amazing as he did.

“I wanna cum all over you,” he panted. “Can I, Armie?”

“I don’t think that’s possible,” Armitage said, breathless.

Ben moaned, and squeezed his eyes shut, fist flying faster. “Please pretend,” he begged. “Please, I—”

“Come on then. Paint me with it. Fill my mouth until it’s dripping out.”

Ben came with a gasp, his legs trembling. He pressed his palm to the wall to steady himself, coming over the tiles and watching the water wash it away in mild disbelief. They’d actually fucking done it. Armitage had helped him jack off.

“Are we officially roommates, or what?” he heaved,  peeking over his shoulder to look at Armitage. He was sitting with his knees pressed together, just as solid as anybody, just as real.

“You won’t date me, Ben?” he said with a weak smirk. “I’m wounded.”

“I’m taking you out,” Ben said, leaning to the wall. Usually at this point he’d feel awkward about being naked, cock getting soft and his less impressive features shifting back into focus, too-big ears and too wide lips, beauty marks and a nose for days. “We’re going to a haunted house. Maybe you can make some friends.”

“Fuck off, I want pizza.” Armitage smiled at him and brushed his hair back with a nervous gesture; Ben noticed the paleness of his wrist, how he began to dim again. Any painful reminder of his death or the things he couldn’t have seemed to make him fade away; maybe one day there’d be nothing left. Ben’s heart sank.

“We’re getting pizza,” he said, “and we’re going to the aquarium to laugh at dumb fishes.” It was a promise: _we’ll make it work, together_.

“I can’t leave the house,” Armitage said, dispersing into a whisper.

“Please pretend,” Ben tried again. “Please?”   

There was nobody there with him.

*

“We wanted to tell you in person,” Finn said, “and, y’know, we wanted you to hear it from us.”

“Okay. Cool.”

They were in the kitchen. Finn was in Poe’s lap. Ben couldn’t say he was surprised.

“How did it happen?” he asked to feign interest, and glanced at the microwave’s clock. 19:13. Still no sign of Armitage.

“Well,” Finn said, colouring a bit, “I was pretty upset thanks to your prank, and um, Poe came over, and one thing led to another.”

“Uh-huh,” Ben said. “Mazel tov.”

“I understand it’s a bit out of the blue,” Poe said, making Ben roll his eyes.

“Dude, you broke up with me months ago. I’m fine.”

“I wanted to make sure you’re okay, because I remember you were being pretty messed up after we separated.”

Ben met his eyes. Fucking puppy-eyes. Fucking I’ll-love-you-forever eyes. Bullshit. “I was messed up in general,” Ben reminded him. “That’s why you ditched me. You made the right call. Finn is a good kid.”

“Listen Solo,” Finn said. Ben couldn’t give a shit about the rest because he spotted Armitage sitting on the kitchen counter, just like he’d imagined. His heart leapt, he couldn’t help but grin. Armitage glared at him.

“Are you with us?” Poe asked.

“Yeah, sure, a hundred percent.” Ben glanced back at them. They were staring. “Oh? Right now, mentally, huh? Yeah, I just remembered something funny. Y’know what’s funny? It’s hunting season, apparently. I’ve got a boyfriend as well.”  He looked at Armitage again, fleetingly. He looked displeased. What was  _wrong_  with him? Was ‘boyfriend’ too much? They had engaged in a sexual act. They were living together. Ben had comforted him. It was more than dating, but not quite love yet. Ben wasn’t sure what it was. There was also the fact that Armitage was dead.

“A boyfriend?” Finn said in a tone which indicated Ben had just confessed  keeping a crocodile in his tub. “Huh! That’s why you’ve been weird lately? Is he a douchebag making you do douchey things?”

“Hey, what happened to being considerate of my fragile emotions?” Ben asked, clutching his chest. No one laughed at his overdramatics. Not even Armitage.  

“You still haven’t apologised for the ghost prank, man,” Finn said. “And it doesn’t help that you keep looking away like somebody was here. It’s  _not_  funny.”

Ben shrugged. “I’m just looking for fucks to give.”

“That meme is old,” Finn said, wrinkling his nose. “I’m disappointed in you.”   

“Listen— I’m sorry. And I wish you all the happiness in the world.” He looked at Armitage again. He was no longer there. “Now, if you excuse me, I gotta facetime my boyfriend, but like, thanks for stopping by.” He got to his feet and headed for the staircase.

“Who is he?” Poe called after him.

“You don’t know him, he’s British,” Ben said (bragged), and thought,  _he already understands me better than any of you._

“You gonna let us out?” Finn asked when Ben was already making his way upstairs.

“Poe knows where I keep my keys. He also knows where all my erogenous zones are.” He winked at Finn, who made a face. Ben fled the scene. That last comment was low, but he wasn’t going to make it easy for them. Poe had fucked off when Ben needed him the most. It was the right thing to do, an adult decision; he wouldn’t have stayed with a boyfriend spinning out of control either. Maybe that’s why it hurt, because he’d always thought Poe was more into their relationship than he was, expected him to make a sacrifice. He hadn’t.

He entered his room and found Armitage sitting on the bed with Ben’s blanket around his shoulders. He looked adorable. He also looked absolutely miserable.

Ben made sure he locked the door, and walked to Armitage.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” he asked, dropping down next to him. He reached out for Armitage’s hand; he only touched air.

“Was that supermodel guy your boyfriend?” Armitage asked. “Poe.”

“One of my exes. Works in politics. Why?”

“One of your exes,” Armitage repeated, looking at nothing.

“There was… _a number_  of them,” Ben said, smiling. Armitage either didn’t catch the blatant reference to the play he’s read to him, or he didn’t care.

“So you’re very experienced,” Armitage said.

“Does it matter?”

“I’m not. Not that. Not very experienced.”

“Does it matter?” Ben asked again, softly.

“I died as a virgin.”

“So what? That happens. I mean, I don’t want to say ‘how come, you’re gorgeous,’ because you can be amazing and still be a virgin; it doesn’t determine your worth—”

“Please don’t mansplain it to me,” Armitage asked, still not turning to him.

“Right. Sorry.”

“You told them I was your boyfriend.”

“Would you like to be that?”

“So you’ve got a boyfriend you can’t touch,” Armitage went on, “and even if you could, I’d be bad at it. Bloody amateurish.”

“Is that a yes to the boyfriend question?” Ben teased. “Don’t give me that look. I don’t care. We’ll figure something out. I bet I could touch you. Even if I can’t, we could y’know, get creative.”

Armitage sighed. “Why are you so damn optimistic?”

“Because I want to give you hope,” Ben said. Finally, Armitage turned to him. Ben wished he knew how to kiss him.

“Don’t wake up tonight,” Armitage said. “Don’t bother.”

“Why? No, okay, you know what? Fine.” He forced himself to smile. “A good boyfriend like me can totally give you space.”

Armitage squeezed his hand. “Thank you,” he said, and disappeared. Ben remained sitting there, mouth slightly open. Armitage had squeezed his hand and he’d felt it. Felt  _something._

*

He woke up at 4:48 as always, but for Armitage’s sake he pretended not to hear the clawing or the cat trying to get in and making appalled noises. He just lay there, looking at the darkness behind his closed eyelids. He tried to come up with methods to make Armitage feel magically better. By 5:21, he had a vague idea of something awesome.

 

_Fifth encounter_

 

“What are those for?” Armitage asked. He had appeared in the attic, looking slightly guilty and very defensive. Ben almost dropped the box filled with Hannukah decorations.

“It’s a surprise, don’t look!” he said, making a shooing motion.

“Oh.”

Armitage was so translucent that morning that Ben could see flecks of dust floating through him. With a sigh, he set the box aside and approached Armitage. He reached out to cup his face; he knew better than to actually try to touch him, so he just let his fingers linger and looked deep into Armitage’s eyes. They were faint and colourless.

“I think we need to talk,” Armitage said.

“I think you need to see it first. I promise I’ll listen to everything you have to say, but I really think it’d, well, get my point across, and. Uh. I can’t exactly put it into words, so. If you can give me thirty minutes?”

Armitage frowned. “Thirty minutes. Okay.”

“I’ll summon you,” Ben said, and dropped his hand.

“Just call, and I’ll be there.”

When Armitage disappeared, Ben wondered whether he’d made the right decision, whether they should’ve started with an adult discussion just as Armitage suggested; but maybe, just maybe, taking a risk would work for their benefit.

*

“Knock-knock,” Ben announced as he entered his room, then froze. He found Armitage petting the cat, donning a nerdy jumper with a large A on it. His hair was combed back, and his shoes appeared to be polished. He was obviously trying to look his best for Ben, who never in his fucking life felt more appreciated than now. For his part, he looked painfully casual in his dark jacket and beanie, but maybe the necklace he was wearing would help his cause. He’d spent a good ten minutes deliberating whether he should put it on.

“You’re late,” Armitage said. The double-take he did was all Ben needed.

“Right, sorry, yes. I had a hold-up with the…” He pointed behind his back. “Come, I’ll show you.”

“I hope you didn’t make a painting to illustrate your complex emotions or something of that sort,” Armitage said and put the cat down, who promptly climbed under the bed. He walked up to Ben and passed  _through_  him. It was like a gush of arctic wind. Ben collected himself and followed Armitage, feeling sheepish. Armitage was slightly floating. He’d never done that before. Maybe he was trying to prove a point.  

They descended the stairs together, and Ben pointed the way to the living room. It had an untouched charm, the harmony of royal blue and silver still balanced without any ill-advised accessories to ruin it. The shock of bright yellow in the middle, a large tent, was Ben’s doing. Armitage stopped in his tracks.

“Huh,” he said. “Very  _Royal_   _Tenenbaums._  Didn’t take you for a Wes Anderson guy.”

“Finn loves his movies, he made me watch and—” What if this was the worst idea ever. What if Armitage hated it. What if, what if, what if. “Okay, I um, I wanted to take you on a date, and y’know, if the mountain won’t come to Muhammad—”

“You would’ve taken me  _camping_  on our first date?” Armitage asked. Ben still couldn’t tell whether he hated the idea or not. He fumbled with the hem of his too-long sweater.

“I _am_  taking you camping,” he said. “We can...”

“...pretend,” Armitage finished for him. Ben nodded, biting his lips. Armitage turned around, taking in the living room; the bookcases, the paintings, the large flat-screen TV. “I hate nature,” he complained. “Ugh. Bugs everywhere.”

A relieved little chuckle escaped Ben. Armitage glared at him. “It’s not funny,” he said.

“They’ll eat you alive,” Ben said, and entwined their fingers. For a moment, it worked; he could feel flesh; cold and damp, but alive and human; then he was touching air again. He looked at Armitage, who was stunned, eyes round. Ben begged him with his gaze,  _don’t stop, just roll with it, that might be the key._

“We could also get murdered,” Armitage said, voice small and confused, but he seemed determined to carry on.

“Sasquatch-murdered or serial-killer-murdered?” Ben asked, strolling through the hard wood floor. He could imagine it being covered with leaves and crunching under his boots.

“What’s the evidence that sasquatch is not a serial killer?” Armitage looked up and broke character for a moment, laughing at the star-shaped fairy-lights Ben had put up. “Shit, see, it’s getting late, we shouldn’t be out here.”

Ben followed his gaze and hummed. “That’s the constellation Lyra,” he said in an overly serious tone, making Armitage laugh again.

“In September?”

“It’s a miracle. Let’s get back to camp. Follow Vega.”

“Or a GPS,” Armitage murmured, and tugged at Ben’s jacket. He could feel it. He tried to keep his bubbling joy in and just picture roaring pine trees all around, immerse himself in the make-believe where it was never a question of whether Armitage’s touch could be felt.

They both pretended to be out of breath by the time they reached the tent (a mile away, and, also, within arm’s reach). They kicked their shoes off and Ben let Armitage climb in first, following closely. The tent was pretty cozy: there were two sleeping bags, a lantern and a duffel bag; the yellow linen made it look like the space was filled with sunshine. Ben started to unpack as Armitage sat with his legs hugged to his chest. Ben laid out a small dinner, pouring out coffee from a thermos and serving walnut-cakes.

“Hungry?” he asked.

“Starving,” Armitage said weakly. He accepted his cup and plate, and held them awkwardly. Ben pretended to eat and drink, not actually touching anything. It prompted Armitage to take a mock-bite.

“I hope you’re not allergic to nuts,” Ben said.

“Is that an innuendo?”

“It might be.”

“It’s awful.”

Ben shrugged, chewing on nothing while getting his phone. He put on  _Directions to See a Ghost_ , well-aware of the irony. Garage rock always helped to clear his head. He spread out on one of the sleeping bags,  picking at his plate, his heart racing. Fantasy or not, he  _was_  on a date with Armitage Hux, this preppy asshole, this adorable menace.

“Do you think I’m a necrophiliac?” he asked him.

Armitage mock-spit the coffee he wasn’t drinking. God, he was really getting into it.

“Depends,” he croaked.

“On what?”

“On whether you want to fuck dead people.”

“If it’s you, then yeah,” he said. _Please don’t fade away. Please don’t fade._

Armitage barely flickered. “It’s not my dead body,” he said, “so I guess that’d be like...soul-fucking. Whatever a soul is.” He flickered again. “Physically speaking, I seem to inhabit a body that is sort of like a vampire’s.”

“That’s hot.”

“Oh, hush,” Armitage scoffed. “When I’m with you, I can sometimes be…like this, like I am now. As if I was flesh and blood again, all conjured up from memories of myself. I might look real, but I’m cold, I don’t have a heartbeat, and I don’t really breathe, because I  _know_  I’m just faking being alive. Speaking is like I was a ventriloquist. It’s fucking weird.”

“Have you tried drinking blood?” Ben suggested.

“Of course I haven't, that's gross! Wait, have you?”

“Might have. Got into bad company.” He didn't know whether he’d just make it worse if he added that it was consensual. One of the Knights had volunteered. Maybe that wasn’t how black magic was supposed to work. Maybe that’s why it hadn’t worked.

“You’re so odd,” Armitage said.

“Yeah.” Ben pushed his plate away, staring at it blankly. “I know, I’m fucked up.”

“No. You’re just an oddball.”

Ben flushed. It sounded too much like an endearment. He peered up at Armitage, who was regarding him with a certain fondness.

“Thanks,” he managed, voice nothing more than a low, dumb grunt. He wished he could just zip up the sleeping bag and disappear from the face of Earth. On second thought, he’d want Armitage to come with him. They could be invisible together.

“So you suggest I should try to prey upon innocent people to...better my condition,” Armitage summed up, setting his cup on top of the tin cake box. Ben’s eyes were drawn to his hands. He had a very clear image of sucking on those long fingers, getting them spit-wet and then asking Armitage to reach down and touch him.

“We could also try true love’s kiss,” he said, propping up his head.

Armitage scowled, but it didn’t escape Ben’s notice how he wiggled his ass as he sat. Restless. Ready.  “And if it doesn’t work?”

Ben raised a brow. “Then we wasted our time on making out.”

“Subtlety is not your forté,” Armitage noted, inching closer. Ben reached out, but Armitage stopped him with a glance. “We have to be clever about it.”

“I have a PhD in kissing.”

“Shut your face.” Carefully and with great concentration, Armitage pressed a finger to Ben’s lips. He kissed it, just a quick peck.

“Felt anything?” he whispered.

“Again,” Armitage demanded. Ben closed his eyes, and bit down. “ _Ahh_!”

That little gasp went straight to Ben’s cock. Reliving his fleeting fantasy, he lapped at Armitage's finger, then sucked it into his mouth, cheeks hollow.

“Ben!” Armitage moaned.

Ben released him with a wet pop and looked up at him. Armitage’s pupils were so damn fat. For a second Ben contemplated what should he do next. Could he just do as he fucking pleased, trusting Armitage to stop him? He would do that if they were really in a tent, in the middle of the wilderness, so why not now? He grabbed Armitage’s shoulders and toppled him back, climbing over him and bracketing his hips.

“Okay?” he asked. Armitage nodded. The music was loud, the bass heavy. Ben bent down, and kissed him.

Armitage kept his mouth closed but the press of those plush lips was exquisite on its own. Ben couldn’t help a low grunt as he kissed him again.

“Don’t use tongue,” Armitage whispered, reaching up to bury his hands in Ben’s hair.

“You don’t like it?”

“ _You_  wouldn’t like it. I guess it would be like licking an ice cube.”

“You’re not made of ice,” Ben breathed. Armitage was cold but not freezing, and Ben was determined to warm him up. Armitage squirmed below him, seeking friction. Ben grinded down, rubbing his half-hard cock over Armitage’s lap through the rough layers of their pants. Armitage was still soft; maybe he _couldn’t_  get an erection.  It might have occurred to Armitage at the same moment, because he got fainter. “I’ve got you,” Ben said, and kissed him again, close-mouthed. He couldn’t feel anything. When he opened his eyes, Armitage was sitting next to him.

“It was very nice, but maybe it’s enough for now,” he said in a rush.

“Don’t give up at the first—” Ben started, then took a deep breath, and didn’t finish the sentence. “Okay. No pressure.” He sat back on his heels, relaxing his tensed-up muscles.

“It’s not just that,” Armitage said. “Not just that I failed, but—”

“You didn’t—”

“—so intense.  _Much_  more intense than I recall kissing being.”

Ben gave him a smug smile, which Armitage returned weakly. He was back to his good old ghost-form, but Ben refused to regard it as a disappointment. He was still warm and tingling all over, his dick the happiest it had been in month, jerk-offs included; they were off to a promising start.

“Oh boo, so you’re a  _very_  sensitive little virgin, huh?”

“Did you just call me boo?”

“Boo,” Ben said, and attempted to give him a kiss on the cheek. It didn’t work.   

“Nicknames are dumb.”

“Don’t you have one? Armitage is kind of a mouthful.” Seeing his expression, Ben added: “I like it, though, but like, what did your friends use to call you?”   

“I didn’t have friends. I don’t know. Phasma was a—trusted companion, but she just called me Hux. Everybody did.”

“Should I?”  

“Hux died,” Armitage said, matter-of-fact. He leant closer; he had no warmth or weight in his state, but Ben could still feel his presence. “I want to believe what you think, that Armitage might still be kicking.”

“My boyfriend Armie definitely does,” Ben said, contemplative. “He just lights up, and—”

“Armie? Huh. That’s not entirely horrible, Benjie.”

“Ben,” Ben said. “Please. I beg you. Ben.”

“Ben,” Armitage repeated, and tucked Ben’s stray locks behind his ear. He flicked it, experimentally. “Felt anything?”

“Maybe try to bite it or something,” Ben suggested, earning another flick.

“You can’t think of  _anything_  else! Dumbo-boy loves to get his ears teased, doesn’t he? What else should I touch?  Would you like me to defy physics and materialise just to play with that big cock you showed me? Isn’t that a bit selfish?”

“It would be if you didn’t like the idea so much,” Ben fired back. Something flared up in Armitage’s eyes. He grabbed Ben’s crystal pendant necklace and pulled him into a bruising kiss. His mouth was wet and warm.

They ended up on the floor again, touching, grasping, rubbing together. Armitage’s body was still slow to react but they were getting somewhere. Ben slid his palms under Armitage’s silly sweater, making his skin warmer with every caress. Armitage hugged him with his long legs and threw his head back, whining with pleasure.

“I won’t survive,” he gasped, the first death-reference Ben had ever heard from him without a hint of self-irony. He kissed his neck, focused on getting him brainless with bliss. His thumb flicked over a nipple,  making Armitage bolt upright. As they collided, Armitage dispersed.

“Fuck,” Ben hissed, looking around in the empty tent. “Sorry, I got carried away—Are you here?”

Nobody answered him. He rubbed his nape and muttered, “We used up too much of your energy, huh? Got the note, we’ll take it slow.”

 

_Sixth Encounter_

 

Ben spent the whole day figuring out how to resolve their impossible situation and came up with nothing. He hoped he could count on the inspiration of shower thoughts at least, but it got him the same empty results.

Armitage had died. It was still a mystery how, and Ben suspected it wouldn’t be a good idea to bluntly ask. Armitage was battling his demise and had received awesome results: he could take a physical form, he could feel touch, move objects, have an excellent sense of his self; but he couldn’t leave the house, he was on some kind of a loop at night and his energy was very unstable. As much as Ben disliked the answer, it looked like control was the solution. As always. They both had to slow down.

He could ask Snoke. If he didn’t betray him, that is. Snoke had promised Ben the secret knowledge Luke denied from him, and Old Ben denied from Grandfather. When Grandmother had died in an accident Grandfather may or may not have inadvertently caused, he’d turned to mysticism, trying to reach out to his dead wife to beg forgiveness. He was a Hollywood heartthrob, a man of the world, but the world he inhabited didn’t have answers. From Salem seances and five dollar palm-readings he turned to the Dark Arts; and whatever answer he found, it had satisfied him. He moved to the cult’s grounds, leaving two small children behind, and then, just as his daughter turned nineteen, he emerged again. He had a mission to bring her to his Master.

Ben was fascinated by this story, even though Leia always told it in a way which portrayed Grandfather as a villain; Luke on the other hand talked about a broken man regretting his decisions in his dying moments. Snoke had told him neither of them were right. But Snoke had told him many things.

His phone was being monitored by his family, his laptop had been confiscated, and he didn’t know the password to his parents’ computers. Rey would never allow him to use her gadgets to get online, but Finn might, if he made Finn sorry for him, maybe using his history with Poe for leverage—Finn had a heart too big for his own good. All it would take would be an email. _Forgive me, Master. I was a fool to believe I could live without your guidance. Help me and upon my life, I will never defy you again._

Those words were Kylo’s. He wasn’t Kylo Ren any longer. Ben stared at his hands, looking at the water dripping from his fingers. It was all a bad dream. It was over.

He heard a noise and stirred, feeling as if he had been caught thinking about a past he was supposed to repent. He reminded himself that Leia couldn’t read his mind and peeked out from behind the shower curtain.

“Do you need anything?” he called, then his heart skipped a beat.

It was Armitage, in all his unexpected glory, wearing nothing but a checkered robe. Ben grinned in greeting, ridiculously relieved and a thousand thoughts coming to mind — _s_ _o good to see you, how are you, are you okay, I’ve been thinking, is everything all right, you wanted to talk and we never got there, God you’re cute, hello_ —then his thought process halted as Armitage dropped the robe to the ground.

“What the actual fuck!?” he cried, trying to cover his eyes. It wasn’t supposed to go like this, Armitage wasn’t supposed to just barge in and offer himself—was that what he was doing? Ben peeked out from between his fingers. Oh whoa, definitely. Fuck. He had a bright orange happy trail and a very pretty cock, uncut. Ben would’ve preferred to find it out after a long discussion on how to proceed and about two hours of foreplay.

“Why are you acting disgusted all of a sudden?” Armitage asked, clearly hurt. Ben was still hiding behind the curtain.

“I’m the very opposite of disgusted, but I’m—oh god your nipples are hard—worried, I’m worried that you might not be ready—No no no, let go, let go!”

Armitage grabbed the curtain and tried to get in. He was relentless and Ben was afraid he might not be able to resist him; but he had to, for their own sake.

“Don’t patronize me,” Armitage gritted. “I can make my own adult decisions.”

“You’re not acting very mature! I said no!”

Armitage let go of the curtain. “‘No’ as in you don’t want it anymore, or ‘no’ as in you really think you’re doing this for me?”

“I’m doing this for you,” Ben said, pulling the curtain aside so there was no barrier between them.  The droplets of water hit Armitage’s skin, sticking to it. Maybe they should take this opportunity; maybe Armitage’s determination was enough to ground him in a physical form, and they wouldn’t risk draining him completely, but “maybe” was not good enough.

“I want to do it,” Armitage said. “That’s what I want, not your chivalry.”

Ben wanted nothing more than to pull Armitage under the spray. He'd be gentle and patient with him; take his time exploring his body and his reactions. Armitage looked so beautiful, but also vulnerable; another perceived failure would break him and he was still exhausted from the previous attempt. Overtaxing himself was dangerous; who knew how long he wouldn't be able to take form? It had already taken him hours. Ben wasn't going to make it worse.

“No,” he said, voice full with regret. A soft blow was still a blow, and Armitage looked like he physically felt it.  Before Ben could reach out to console him, he disappeared.

Fucking great.

When he stepped out of the shower a message was waiting for him, written over the mirror.

_I need some time to think._

*

He didn’t see Armitage for four days straight and it almost killed him. He woke up every night to the sound of Armitage’s despair, unable to help. All he could do was to make sure the cat got in; her presence seemed to soothe Armitage.

On the fifth day, having finished his workout in the garden, he found Rey in his room. He dropped the yoga mat.

“Will you _stop_  breaking and entering!”

Rey was undisturbed. She was on the ground reading his precious Batman comics, back pressed to his bed. She had also lit some candles. Ben dashed to smother them.

“Don’t do it, it’s a fire hazard!” he complained.

“Are you afraid a little cleansing will drive your ghost away?” Rey asked, licking a finger obnoxiously to turn the page.

“I know it’s hard to admit that sensing energy is bullshit, but it  _was_  a prank. If you got some vibes or whatever, it’s on you. It could be anything. My ghost story had nothing to do with it.”

Rey tossed the comic aside carelessly, making Ben finch. It was a Halloween special from the Legends of the Dark Knight series, and one of his favourites.

“I did some digging, you know,” she said. Ben leant on his desk, sticky, sweaty and exhausted, wanting very much to be left alone.  

“Look out, Batman, your methods don’t compare to the genius of Detective Skywalker. What did you find, shithead?”

“No name-calling or I’m tearing the signed copy to shreds.”

“You wouldn’t dare,” Ben whispered.

“Bet your ass I would.” She really would. Ben pouted, feigning disinterest as Rey went on. “A guy used to live here by the name of Armitage Hux. College kid. Yale. Was mostly away to Connecticut. Came from the UK with his dad and a cat.”  

“So what?” Ben asked. Shit, he should’ve known the cat was Armitage’s.

“He died.”

Ben raised up his eyebrows. “Whoa. That never happened to anybody before.”

“Nobody liked the family. They kept to themselves. The light was on in Armitage’s room most nights he was here, much to the annoyance to the neighbor across the street. There was a lot of shouting. Like, a  _lot_.”  

“So a college student who lived here used to pull all-nighters and had a shitty dad,” Ben summed up. He wanted Rey to stop. Nobody had the right to tell this story but Armitage.

“A deeply disturbed and very dedicated loner died a painful death, and you say your room is not haunted? We got all the marks,” Rey said, counting it on her fingers, “family drama, possible unfinished business, tragedy, no one to reach out to. Then we do a ritual and he turns up.”

“We didn’t do a ritual,” Ben reminded her. He pushed himself away from the desk and began to pace. “The circle was for protection, not summoning. As Finn was so kind to point out, it was all crap. And if every sad boy turned into ghosts, the world would be teeming with them; so stop accusing me.”

“I will, if you stop lying to me,” Rey said softly. Ben halted and peered at her. She looked dead serious. “You make all of us worry. We have a reason why we’re not very comfortable with you keeping secrets.”

“I gave up all of my privacy so you can sleep at night,” Ben said, defeated. “I can’t go to the gym or watch a movie without someone from this family freaking out. I don’t have the keys to my own car. I don’t even have a bathroom for my own. And I know you have every right to be suspicious, I  _know_. I’m getting constant fucking reminders and honestly, I deserve them, because I hurt you. Every single one of you. I’ll never forget what you did for me, and what Luke did, and...dad...and mum.” It was hard to swallow, somehow. He took a heavy breath, and when he looked at Rey he couldn’t see her clearly, eyes welling up. “I know you’re afraid what will happen when I go back to college. I know you don’t have any reason to trust me. So don’t. Just let me have this. Please, let me have this.”

Rey watched him for a long time. Ben tried to keep it together; he always wanted to appear stronger in front of her, first playing the big boy, then being a self-appointed rival, and now it was mostly out of habit. Rey’s admiration was one of the things he’d lost to Snoke, and something he suspected he’d never get back. She got to her feet slowly, looking guiltily at the scattered comics. As she passed him, she put a hand on his shoulder.

“I’m keeping your secret, jerk.”

Ben smiled at her, lips trembling at the corners. “Thank you, jerk.”

Rey pretended to tear an invisible comic book in half, making him chuckle. She closed the door behind her. Ben walked to his bed, dazed, and dropped to it bodily. He was trying to blink away the tears when the first sob escaped him. His mum always said there was no shame in crying, but she was never there to comfort him; and Snoke taught him that only the weak wept. He tried to fight the man’s influence and let himself fall apart, wondering how long he’d be dealing with the consequences of his stupidity and selfishness, of Snoke and all the rest. He hardly noticed the lights shift; then he heard the rain.

Still sniffling, he turned to the window. It was a clear fall day, the sun bright on the streets, but heavy droplets rolled down the glass and a drawing appeared in the fog. It was a stick man with long hair and a sad face. Ben draw an umbrella for him without thinking.

“So you can do weather magic or whatever,” he whispered. “That’s cool.”

Writing surfaced on the glass, a thorny cruisive. _Noticed you always open the window when it’s raining. Thought it might cheer you up. Always did the trick for me._

“Appreciated,” Ben said, looking around in the vain hope that he might spot Armitage, that maybe he’d be allowed to hug him. No such luck; Armitage either couldn’t or wouldn’t take on a physical form—or maybe he had. Maybe he was the rain. Ben drew a heart on the glass, and monograms appeared:  _A+B._

“An Apathetic Boy and his Boo,” Ben interpreted. Armitage drew something really mean, smeared it off, and then there was a pause. Ben propped up on his elbows over the windowsill, like he used  to do when he was a kid and still found cloud-gazing fascinating.

 _I guess you want to know what happened_.

“Don’t tell me just because she made you,” Ben said. “I know it’s not something you uh, particularly enjoy thinking about. It’s okay.”

_I think it might help us, if you knew. I want to tell you. Just don’t interrupt me._

Ben nodded, taking his duty to shut the fuck up very seriously. He could swear he felt something shift, like Armitage was sitting next to him invisibly; the thought sent shivers down his spine. He needed him close more than ever.

 _It was Christmas,_  Armitage wrote.   _Papa never cared about holidays, but he always cared about appearances. He didn’t really like me, but he liked to brag about me. His girlfriend dropped by. He wanted to impress her.  Wouldn’t shut up about my achievements. Like I was a racehorse or something. Like he had anything to do with my success._

_I excused myself early. Went to pack. They stayed up and drank, then she had to go home to her husband. When I went downstairs to put away the food and load the dishwasher, I found Papa passed out on the couch. He woke up when I covered him with the comforter. Said he wasn’t sleepy. I distinctly remember telling him to blow out the candles and deal with the wrapping papers. I wasn’t sure he’d do it, but I was done dealing with his mess._

_I cleaned the kitchen one last time, took a long bath, finished preparations, checked if I had everything where they should be, texted Rae. Stayed up reading. Dozed off around midnight._

_I don’t know what happened next, but I had some time to think about it after I died, and my best guess is this: that decorative plastic mistletoe shit around the candles caught on fire when they burnt down. It must’ve spread in a snap. We always had a real Christmas tree, you know. They burn fast._

_Papa must’ve went back to sleep on the couch. That’s how he got out. He woke up, saw that the house was on fire. Didn’t come back for me._

_My own coughing woke me up. I’m asthmatic. I had an attack and fell to the ground. The smoke was everywhere and my luggages and boxes and books were burning and the floor threatened to collapse. I knew I had to stay low and that I might escape if I make it to the window, but to be able to do that, I needed my inhaler. I dropped it when I fell. I was looking for it on the floor. Scratching. Panicking. Suffocating._

_At 4:48 my dad started shouting. “Armitage! Armitage!” Like he gave a shit. Made a show out of it. Standing in the streets, shouting his son’s name. Poor guy. Lost everything. That was the story._

_Next thing I remember: I’m above everything. It’s early morning. The house is burnt to a crisp. A firefighter is holding Rae back. She’s hitting Papa with her bag, screaming, “You left him to die in there. You left him.”_

_He looked like hell. He just let her hit him. I don’t know what he was thinking, how he processed all this. All I know is that he never came back._

_My ashes were collected. I remained. The house was rebuilt. It looks the same as it did so it fits the uniformity of the street. I always liked that about American streets. How everything looks  essentially the same._

_It took me a long while to regain my consciousness. There was a family here before yours. I drove them out. I was so angry all the time and I was in so much pain. They sold the house for pennies._

_Millicent stayed to keep me company. It’s so much easier with her._

_Then you came along. And I’d like you to stay._

_I like you._    

*

Armitage disappeared after telling his story. Ben was shaken, blind with anger, wanting to set Armitage’s dad on fire. There was also the secret and maybe shameful joy of having earned Armitage’s trust.  Even though they were kind of on a break, Ben was deemed worthy to hear it. That surely meant something.

He was restless for the remainder of the day, feeling like he had to do something, something like inventing time-travel so he could go back and save the boy he cared about so much it hurt.  At 4:48 he woke to Armitage reliving the moment of hearing his dad shout his name; a profound pain which hadn’t faded with the years, not like the flames of the fire which got fainter and fainter in his memory.

Ben had to do something.

He couldn’t go back to sleep and he wanted to respect Armitage’s wish to be left alone. He kicked the covers off at 6:00, brushed his teeth, dressed, fogged up the mirror with his breath and wrote  _brb_. The words “ _seen 6:31_ ” appeared on the glass.

He wasn’t exactly  _grounded_. He’d been advised not to leave the house and his phone had a tracker, but he could always just leave it behind and get home early, before any of his busy parents noticed he was missing. Thinking about it, their plan to keep Ben away from trouble wasn’t exactly foolproof— it never had been; but maybe the point was to trust him not to do anything stupid.

He was about to do something very stupid.

Poe’s apartment was a thirty minute walk away. He expected to find Finn there and he wasn’t disappointed. He was a  _bit_  disappointed to see that Poe’s home still looked like a cozy crossover between a library and a coffee shop. All his plants were thriving and the wall where he displayed polaroids made by friends showed new evidence of his Instagram-perfect life. Sure, he had a rough childhood and he was dealing with severe PTSD and panic attacks, but he still managed to keep his shit together to a level where it felt like some kind of a personal insult.

Ben found Finn eating chia pudding in the kitchen. It had fresh strawberries in it. Finn almost spat them out.

“Learn to close the door,” Ben said, pulling out a chair for himself.  _His_  chair. His ex-chair. They’d painted it blue together and it had taken forever.

“What can I do for you, Solo?” Finn asked, still coughing discreetly. They both chose to ignore that he was wearing nothing but a pair of purple briefs.

“I’m bored,” Ben complained. “No one’s home. Thought I’d borrow some movies. Can we get your laptop?”

“Uhm, yeah, sure. Give me a call next time, yeah?”  

It was almost too easy. Finn collected his stuff from the bedroom, and Ben presented him with his alibi-pendrive.  

“Can I interest you in some Jean-Pierre Jeunet?” Finn asked.

“I have a specific movie in mind, I saw it on HBO years ago and can’t find it,” Ben lied through his teeth, taking control over the keyboard. “It had that young actor in it, mmm, Armitage Hux or whoever?”

“Never heard of him,” Finn said. Ben googled the name; Armitage’s Facebook page came up, and Ben clicked on in before Finn could spot that he had nothing to with acting. “You should use IMDB.”

“I just want to see if it’s him,” Ben muttered, hoping to get away with the coverup.  Poor Armie. His profile picture looked like a mugshot. It was amazing that a guy so pretty could be so unphotogenic. He scrolled down and clicked on his contacts.

“What are you doing?”

“His dad was in it,” Ben told him. “We’ve got it! Brendol Hux. They’ve played father and son.”

“Okay,” Finn said, baffled. “Can you remember anything else?”

Ben started typing. “I think the title was something like ‘How Much Does it Cost to Hire an Assassin.’”   

*

“We’re very disappointed,” Leia said.

“Especially since you could’ve just go to an internet café,” Han added. Leia elbowed him sharply.

“You froze my bank account and I have no cash,” Ben reminded them.

It was evening and they were in the living room. Leia had proposed an intervention after Finn called her, the traitor. Ben had just noticed that he’d left the fairy lights on when he packed away after the camp date. No one commented on it.

“That’s the other thing, how were you going to pay for the assassin?” Han asked. This time, Leia slapped his knee. “Ow!”

“ _No one_  is accusing you of actually planning to hire an assassin,” Leia said, giving a sharp look to her husband, “but I interpret tricking your friend into using his computer for searching this specific data as a cry for help. Is that assumption correct?”

Ben felt like he was five again, expected to understand big words like ‘interpret’ and ‘assumption’ and have a perfect grasp on his emotions.

“I just want to know whether you can sue someone for wrongful death if they let their kid die in a fire five years ago.”

“Jesus!” Han hissed. “Who the fu—”

“I can look into it, honey,” Leia said calmly. “Was this the person you googled?”

“Yeah. Rey told me about how the guy who used to live in my room died and I...got upset.”

“God, you must be bored,” Han muttered.  “Maybe we could reconsider your internet access? Or something.” He glanced at Leia with his ‘how to parent, help me’ face.  Ben knew this expression too well, and he resented it. He was a person. He didn’t come with a manual. If Han wanted to know what he needed, he could just ask him.

“He was always a sensitive child,” Leia said as if he was not present. “It’d be probably for the best if he had more means to deal with upsetting news, I agree.”

“Ben will be happy to hear that, don’t forget to tell him,” Ben said sharply.

Leia gave him an apologetic look. “We’ll talk about it. How does Monday sound?”

Ben almost made a comment on her habit to schedule time spent with family but swallowed it back. “Sounds good,” he said. “Sorry I scared you.”

“What kind of psychopath lets their kid…” Han mumbled, shaking his head.

“His name is Brendol Hux,” Ben said, “and he must be held responsible.”

 

_Seventh encounter_

 

The intervention turned into an impromptu movie night. They were just watching whatever was on TV. Leia had her laptop open the whole time, typing emails furiously at the most crucial moments and then asking what she’d missed, but they were still together. Han even made hot pockets for dinner. Ben was almost sorry to go back to his room when it was over.

It was getting late. He should’ve taken a shower and gone to sleep, so he’d have enough energy to send soothing vibes Armitage’s way at 4:48, but he wasn’t tired yet. He sat on his bed cross-legged, thinking about his plans, optimistic about bringing justice to Brendol Hux and slapping him with it. Even if what they had wasn’t enough to get Brendol convicted, he was certain he could dig up some more dirt.

He heard a rustle and turned to see whether the cat had gotten in. He caught sight of a heap of white sheets.  It took him a few seconds to realise it was his boyfriend.

“Armitage,” he called to him, reaching out to unhood him. He was afraid he’d find nothing under the sheets; that maybe Armitage was gone for good and he’d never see him again. The mere idea was unbearable. His tense fingers revealed Armitage’s profile; he was sitting with his back to Ben, knees pulled up to his chest. “Armitage,” he repeated, and this time it sounded like a prayer. He wanted to reach out and touch, but wasn’t sure that he could, or that he was allowed to. He just held the sheets in his hands, anxious, thrilled.

Armitage turned to him timidly, as if he’d just woken up and reality was still hazy for him. His form flickered as recognition lit up his eyes. He smiled, a small, sad thing. They leant in for a kiss at the same time. It was like kissing in a dream; delicious, wet, but without warmth or softness. Armitage parted his lips. Ben tasted the cold air of a wintry night in a cemetery.

“I’m sorry,” Armitage whispered into the kiss.

“For what, idiot?” Ben wanted to ruffle up his hair. He couldn’t. Not now.

“For freaking out on you in the shower.”

“You’re a ghost, you’re allowed to do all the freaky stuff you want. Freakouts included.”

Armitage wrinkled up his nose. “I thought I’d drop by to thank you for what you’re trying to do,” he said. “I don’t think I’m seeking revenge, but it’s nice of you to care.”

“Of course I care,” Ben said softly. “You sure you don’t wanna see your old man behind bars?”

“I think vengeful thoughts don’t do me any good.” Armitage lifted a transparent hand and let his fingers dance through the air. “They bind me here. All that anger and pain. There’s no escape.” He lowered the sheets so they surrounded him like a cape. A flutter; now he was sitting shoulder-to-shoulder with Ben, who felt like his chest was about to burst from happiness.

“What do you want to do?” he asked softly.

Armitage casually put his legs over Ben’s lap. “I still want to have sex with you,” he announced. “But I have a hypothesis.”

Ben grinned. “Oh, some scientific evidence to support your claim for the D?”

“Not funny.” Armitage poked him. Ben couldn’t feel anything. They’d spent too much time apart. Maybe they’d waited for too long. “First of all, I think this is where we went wrong: I let you take control. I got overwhelmed. If we try again, we must try something else.”

“You want to top?”

“God, no,” Armitage said with a sneer. He was so precious Ben couldn’t help putting his arms around him. _Slightly_  around him. He was careful not to touch. “I have the theory that ghosts are parasites and we feed off on life force,” Armitage said. Ben froze.

“Say what?”

“I’m, well, if I had to put it in simpler terms, I’d say that I’m getting stronger on the affection you show me.”

“You’re getting stronger on my love,” Ben whispered, amazed.

“Shut up. Yes. If you want to put it that way. Convincing myself that I am  _capable_  of maintaining a physical form is just one part of the trick. The other part is...well. If I just lie there and take what you throw at me, and don’t actively contribute to the energy-exchange, so to say, I ‘overheat.’” He did the finger-quotes thing. Damn it. Six days without his cuteness and then all of this at once. How was Ben supposed to survive? Maybe just when Armitage figured out a solution, they’d have to figure out how to bring  _Ben’s_  ghost back from the netherrealms.

“I kinda came to the same conclusion,” he said when it became apparent that Armitage was expecting an answer. “Control-wise, that is.”

“It’s a solid theory,” Armitage nodded. Ben refrained from making a pun involving the word ‘solid.’ “I should also mention that if I am correct, it’s not just about sex. It’s about taking back my life—with a little help.”

“A ritual,” Ben said.

“Let’s call it an experiment.”  He pressed his forehead to Ben’s shoulder. Was that a headbutt? It was a headbutt. Armitage had hadbutted him. “How do you feel about it? I know I’m asking a lot.”

“You’re not,” Ben said, voice full with emotion. Just so much emotion. “I said no because I thought you weren’t ready. I think you’re ready now, and so am I.”

“I’m actually a tad knackered,” Armitage said with a wicked grin, and stretched. “Takes a toll on you to take a physical form. I’m still adjusting. See you later; be ready for me.”

“Wait,” Ben cried out when Armitage vanished. He re-appeared by the door, floating, his sheet fanning out and hair writhing like he was underwater.

“Can’t a man have his dramatic exit?”

“Could you, maybe, like. Spend the night. Nothing overtaxing, just good ol’ cuddling. Please?”

“I will think about it,” Armitage announced graciously.

*

Armitage thought about it for about three minutes, then settled for an emphatic yes.  Ben rushed to clean up before jumping to bed. It seemed unreal that Armitage would be waiting for him when he got back, but there he was, lying on his side in his PJs, petting his cat. Ben wanted to melt; he couldn’t believe he was such a lucky bastard that he could call Armitage his boyfriend.

“So, what did you have in mind?” Armitage asked while Ben was busy untying his damp hair.

“Can I be the little spoon? I love being the little spoon.” He shook out his locks, enjoying how Armitage’s gaze lingered on him. They both knew Ben didn’t usually sleep topless. They both pretended they didn’t.

“Be my guest,” Armitage asked.  Ben turned the lights off and approached the bed through the thick darkness. Armitage’s skin had an unnatural glow and the whites of his eyes shone. Ben didn’t know why he found it a turn on. As he got closer, Armitage appeared more and more human. Ben climbed under the black blanket, passing his best pillow with some kind of rodent skull to Armitage, who nominated it to be Millicent’s little bed. They settled in, Ben’s back pressed to Armitage’s unmoving chest, butt in his cold lap. What mattered was that he felt Armitage’s arms around him. With a content sigh, he closed his eyes.

“I can’t exactly sleep,” Armitage told him.

Ben hummed. “You don’t have to.”

“I’ll get bored. Let’s talk.”

“What do you want to talk about?”

There was a pause. Armitage squirmed. “I’ve been reading your mum’s emails and I fundamentally disagree with her views on national security.”

“Okay?”

“I can’t believe that Senator Organa moved into my house. Of all people.”

Ben blinked a few times. “Wait, you know her?”

“Political science student, remember?” Armitage squeezed him. “What happened, anyway? Your family is treating you like a ticking time bomb.”

“More like a landmine,” Ben murmured. “They know I won’t go off on my own, but they’re afraid somebody will step on me and  _kaboom._  Yeah. I’ve joined a cult, so figures.”

“I see.” A pause again. “Why did you do that?”

Ben bit his lips. It was the same question everybody asked him, and he had no satisfying answer.

“It seemed like a good idea? Listen, I was—I’ve been lied too. I knew Snoke was bullshiting me, but I guess I felt like I needed to be bullshitted, or more like, I needed promises, even if he was never going to fulfill them. Made me feel less hopeless.”

“Snoke?”

“Old white dude. Rich. Bored. Might be part of the Illuminati, if there’s one. Tracked me down online. You know I’m the grandson of Anakin Skywalker, right?”

“I did the math,” Armitage said carefully. “Handsome guy.”

Ben chose to ignore the possibility that Armitage might have been one of the thousands swooning over his grandfather. “I knew he was involved in a cult, I even knew about the family drama and the kidnapping. But then there was this tabloid, some bored-ass journalist digging up a cold case, he ran a story on Grandfather, and it got big. And I didn’t know about the human sacrifices.”

“Bollocks,” Armitage said with feeling, and even Millicent made a noise in sympathy. She was probably just stretching or something, but Ben still appreciated it.  

“Dunno whether he actually... Like it was what the the cult did in  _general._  And they had volunteers. Fanatics wanting to become one with the Dark. Anyway. Still not legal. And y’know, it fucked me up. People looked at me differently. They treated Rey like shit. Luke pretended to be chill with the drama, said he dealt with it before, all that. But y’know, it's different when your past comes back to kick your ass. I knew he wasn’t okay and I hated that he expected me to be. Long story short, I was mad as hell and super confused, and Snoke came and offered me the truth, and beyond understanding, power. Who would’ve said no to that?”

“I—”

“Don't answer.” Ben pressed back against him. Without Grandfather seeking a way to communicate with Grandmother, magic would’ve never found its way into the family; and without it, he’d never met Armitage. It wasn’t just Light or Dark. It was so much bigger. “I was really into it. Made friends with fellow believers my age. My knights. We made a pact to move to the cult’s premises together. Dad came after me. It was supposed to be the first night of my new life. I was ready. Determined. Desperate. Pushed him off a bridge.” He squeezed his eyes shut. “Chewie saw the whole thing. So did Rey and Finn. Then the chase through the woods. I, ugh. I’m here now. I could’ve killed him, y’know. I could’ve killed my dad who was just trying to get me back. I’ll never forgive myself that.”  

“But you have nothing against killing  _my_  dad, you hypocrite?” Armitage teased, making Ben snort out a relieved laugh. Sometimes it was hard to snap out of the past. If anybody knew that, it’d be Armitage.

“That’s different, Armie, your dad is a dick.”  

“What happened to Snoke?” Armitage asked, clinging to him.

“What do you think? Rich, privileged, well-connected. My family has its...means as well, and you can only escape the law for so long, at least that’s what mum says, but yeah, right now, Snoke is doing the escaping part. We don’t really know where he is. No one knows. We moved the fuck away just to be safe. It was one of the reasons.” He cleared his throat. “Sometimes, I just. I expect to bump into him on the street, and when I stay indoors I expect him to knock. Then I tell myself it’s stupid. I walked to visit Finn just the other day. I lived.”

“I’ll protect you from him,” Armitage said on a tone which suggested he didn’t find it an especially complicated task. Ben was charmed.

“How?” he asked, running his fingers up Armitage’s arm, which was cool and unyielding like marble — but marble was solid; they were making progress.

“You know what wrinkly, privileged pricks are afraid of? Mortality. Imagine him meeting a ghost, or even better: a  _youth_  who died and then lived again.”

“That’s clever and cruel,” Ben mused, amused. Armitage nibbled on his ear.

“‘Clever and cruel’ is on my namecard, pumpkin.”

“Are you calling me pumpkin now?”

“Absolutely not. It was the heat of the moment and I am ashamed. Go to sleep.”

*

The cat woke up first. She pawed Ben’s nose until she had his attention. He didn’t remember nodding off. He was tangled in the heavy blankets, feet intertwined with Armitage’s. Armitage was trembling, his whole body shaking as he coughed.

“Oh no, Armie, no,” Ben muttered, turning to face him. Everything was blurry in the darkness. He reached out blindly, cupping Armitage’s face. His skin was damp with cold sweat. “I’m here,” Ben whispered as he pressed a kiss to his forehead.

“What’s happening?” Armitage mumbled, a sleepy whine interrupted with an awful cough.

Ben stroked his hair, and although it pained him, he said, “Wake up. The house is on fire.”

Armitage bolted up, eyes round with panic and his hollow chest heaving. Ben got hold of his shoulders.

“Let me go, no, I gotta—”

“We’re changing the story,” Ben said firmly. “You’ll get out this time. You’ll survive.”

Armitage licked his lips, not answering, and started searching for something frantically, squirming away from Ben’s grip. Ben pulled him close again, this time by the hips. “Forget your inhaler. You won’t need it.”

“Millie, where’s Millie, I’m not leaving her, I’m not leaving—”

“She’s okay,” Ben said, pointing at the windowsill where the cat sat, ears pointed towards them. Armitage muttered something and knelt up to turn the knob. It wouldn't give; Armitage tried three times before he could yank it open.

“Shoo!” he hissed, waving to Millicent to get out. She turned away, almost offended, and hopped to the roof. Armitage sagged with relief, then a violent wheeze shook him.

“Here, come here,” Ben said, gathering him up against his chest. Armitage was reliving his asthma attack; they didn’t have much time. “Hold on to my neck, are you holding on?  I’m getting us out, we’re leaving, I’m not letting you die in here, you hear me? We’re leaving.”

It was easier said than done; their escape through the window was not very elegant with Armitage clinging on like a dead weight, but when Ben’s naked feet touched the tiles he knew they’d be all right. Okay, maybe the one of them with functioning organs might get a cold. It was freezing balls and he had nothing but sweatpants on.

“Nice, fresh air,” he said, teeth chattering as he sat down carefully. He hoped he wouldn’t slip. That’d be grand. Breaking the loop and then breaking his neck.

Armitage was sitting in his lap, pale as moonlight but not opaque, and solid to the touch as Ben rubbed his back.

“You got out,” Ben said. “We can flip off your dad.” He kissed his lips, sharing warmth and his breath.

“Kiss me with your mouth open,” Armitage whispered. Ben shuddered and then did as he was told. He also raised his middle finger at an imaginary Brendol.

This is how it should’ve went five years ago. Armitage Hux, saved by his boyfriend, making out under pale skies, safe, alive.

As if Armitage could sense Ben’s sentiments, he said, “If this night was that night, the roof would be collapsing under us.”

“Stop being a perfectionist for five minutes,” Ben grunted, punching his shoulder softly. “How do you feel? Do you feel any different?”

“I feel well-kissed,” Armitage said with a certain smugness. “Also, the asthma-attack magically stopped, so that’s a great plus.”

“Yay,” Ben said, and then, “What now?”

Armitage shrugged, turning his face towards the wind with closed eyes. Ben thought he’d never seen anything more beautiful than this shit: Armitage looked  _peaceful_ , serene, with the breeze playing with his hair and pale lashes fluttering and everything. Ben ached to touch or to kiss him again, but he restrained himself, wanting to let him enjoy the moment.

As far as he knew this was the first time in five years Armitage has left the house. That must be quite something.

“This is nice,” Armitage said. “Would be even better with a cock up my ass.”

Ben almost fell over. He found his balance the last moment, laughing as he said, “You saucy little—”

“What?” Armitage turned to him, frowning. “I just had a profound and emotional experience; something afterlife-changing, I gather. Am I not allowed to celebrate?”

Millicent was watching them from the gutter. She didn’t look judgemental, but she looked done.

“Kiss me again and then we can talk about the ritual,” Ben said.

Armitage rolled his eyes. “Oh, right, because we’re sacrificing a virgin, ha-ha.”

“Because we’re bringing you back to life.” Ben gave him a peck on the corner of his mouth. Armitage returned it, and then kissed him properly.

When he pulled back, he said, “Every guy thinks they have a magic dick. You’re the first one I believe.”

*

Armitage was standing in the middle of the room wearing nothing but a pair of boxers and a blindfold.

“This is getting weird,” he said.

“How so?” Ben asked, drawing a circle to the ground with chalk.

Armitage shifted his weight. “I don’t feel particularly sexy.”

Ben glanced up at him. “You’re very sexy.” Having completed the circle, he placed broken glass in the direction of east to represent Air and poured out some sand for Earth. Armitage was silent. “Should I put on some music or something?” Ben offered.

“Wouldn’t that wake  your parents?”

“Dad uses earplugs and mum takes pills.”

Armitage thought about the offer while Ben put a glass of water to face west and a pack of cigarettes to face south.  

“I think I want to hear everything,” Armitage decided. “Seeing that we can be loud and all. I like your pretty noises.”

Ben flushed, trying his damndest not to get distracted. He got to his feet and walked around the circle three times. He shared Armitage’s anxiety and nervous anticipation, but he wanted to look brave and self-assured.

“I conjure thee, O Circle of Power, that thou be a meeting place of love and joy and revival,” he said on a clear-ringing voice. Armitage groaned.

“Oh my god.”

“Don’t invoke god,” Ben advised. He laid down a faux sheepskin rug and then just sat there.  _Now what._  He knew what. The oils and the lube were right there on a makeshift altar, and so was his athame and a chalice filled with wine. He plunged the ritual knife into the cup; this was to represent the sacred act of lovemaking. It was certainly lacking in sensuality.   

“Are you quite ready yet?” Armitage asked, getting impatient.

“A moment.” Ben drank the wine in one gulp and put the athame back to the altar. He felt very awkward. The steps of the ritual looked rather stupid with his mind being on well, other things; also, there was not exactly a guidebook to How to Use Sex Magic So You Can Successfully Ravish Your Ghost Boyfriend, so he was pretty much making shit up.

 _All you need to do is believe,_  he told himself.  _You believed your room was haunted, and in your arrogance_   _you were convinced you could talk to the ghost haunting it; and now here you are. Armie just rewrote his history. We won’t fuck it up this time. We’ll just fuck._

He clicked his tongue, savouring the lingering taste of wine. He’s borrowed the bottle from Leia a month ago. She either didn’t notice or thought that her son deserved a decent drink.

“I’ll ask you to walk around the circle three times,” Ben said. “Keep your eyes closed under the blindfold. You’ll have to follow my voice and rely on my directions so you don’t touch the lines.”  

Armitage sighed, narrow shoulder slumping. “I always thought my first time would be a happy, semi-drunk shag in a public bathroom somewhere. And what do I get? Occult trust building exercises with a self-appointed witch.”

“I’m just trying to be helpful,” Ben snapped, “to the best of my ability and my knowledge, so what about you—”

“I wasn’t complaining,” Armitage interrupted him. “All I’m saying is that my life tends to take unexpected turns. Like becoming  ghost and stuff.”

“Cool,” Ben said. He pulled down his sweatpants unceremoniously and tossed them into a corner. Armitage was an ungrateful little bitch with no respect for the very powers that had granted him a second chance in the afterlife; but he was also someone Ben couldn’t wait to touch, comfort, pleasure and please.

Armitage was right. Life was weird.

“Shall I start circling?” Armitage asked him. Ben took in his uncertain fumbling and he felt his heart melt instantly. Why was it impossible to stay mad at this asshole? He looked almost comical in his old-fashioned boxers, with his gangly limbs and fluffy ginger hair and all that—and Ben had never wanted to pound someone so bad. Armitage was a boy made to be loved,  every inch of him needing to be kissed, caressed, worshipped; he stood there, soft and skinny and maddeningly hot, waiting for an answer.

“Yes,” Ben managed.  He was getting hard. Fast.

Armitage approached the circle, walking in line like a cat. Ben leant back on his elbows, not even daring to blink.

“Tell me if I’m doing it wrong,” Armitage asked him.

“Just one more step—Turn—That’s it. You’re doing so well. Try to sense me. Focus on my presence.”

“I think I’ve been doing it for a while,” Armitage said, following the line of the circle without stepping over it. “Sensing you, that is. You have a unique signature. I don’t even know how to begin to explain it. It’s so silly. But it calls to me.”

“Does it?” Ben asked. It still seemed impossible that someone like Armitage would find him special. If they’d met at a house party or something, an aspiring actor with a messed-up history with the supernatural, and this guy, a nervous wreck of a tight-laced student with purpose and ambition,  maybe they wouldn’t have had anything to say to each other. Despite this—despite their differences—Ben was certain they would’ve felt the same pull, just as strong, just as inexplicable, and endlessly magical.

“You resonate with me,” Armitage told him. “I can’t put it in any other way. I told you it sounds stupid.”

“Come here.”

“Oh, did I already walk three circles?”

“Finish the circles and come here,” Ben mumbled, earning a chuckle.

“How are you waiting for me? Tell me.”

“Well, I’m naked.”

“Mm. A promising start.”

“I’m also hard.”

“Keeps getting better,” Armitage said with a smile. His steps were weightless, slow, elegant. He moved like a hunter. “Are you touching yourself?”

Ben’s cock twitched. “You’d hear that.”

“You’re showing impressive self-restraint for someone who can’t keep his hands off himself.”

“I masturbate on a perfectly normal and ordinary basis, thank you very much.”

“Then touch yourself for me. Don’t forget to be perfectly normal and ordinary about it.”   

“Fuck you,” Ben gritted. His hand was on his cock before he was finished with the short sentence. The sound of skin on skin was obscene and it just got him harder, almost painfully so. He couldn’t wait for Armitage to see what he’d made of him, how the head of his cock was already glistening with precome. He was leaning back on his elbows on the sheepskin, legs open, displaying himself, begging to be touched.

Armitage turned to face him, standing there as if he was waiting for orders.   

“ _We have casted the circle thrice about to keep the evil spirits out_ ,” Ben recited, breathless.

“Sod off, what if I’m an evil spirit? How will I get in?”

“You’re not. Unmake the blindfold and cut a doorway.”

“Ugh,” Armitage said, taking off the black silk and letting it drop to the ground. His jaw also dropped. It was very flattering, how greedily he looked at Ben, mouth slack. He crouched down; Ben’s heart leapt at the thought that he was about to get literally pounced, but Armitage just made an opening in the circle, rubbing away the chalk. He briefly flickered. There was an odd quality to him: he seemed real, but like he haven’t quite found his dimensions. He was like a reflection of a hologram.

“Come inside, Armitage Hux,” Ben said. “I invoke thee.”

“Oh gee, how awfully nice of thou,” Armitage muttered sarcastically, but he solidified again. Ben didn’t even have to remind him to close the circle, he got the chalk and redrew the line.   

Ben’s grip on his cock got tighter but he slowed down his movements. He wanted it to last. Last forever. Never leave this circle; now it was a galaxy for two, waiting to be explored. The blue light of morning washed over Armitage, making his pale skin look as if it was glowing and his hair the red of a bleeding horizon.

“Learn to use the blasted lotion,” Armitage said softly, getting the oil. Ben’s breath hitched as Armitage straddled his thighs, so close to where he needed him.

“Can you move higher up—”

“If I wanted to sit on your cock, I would've sat on your cock,” Armitage said, pouring the oil over his  fingers. It had a thick, musky smell, strategically matching the aftershave Ben was using.

“Do you like it?” he asked smugly. Armitage grabbed his cock without hesitation, making him yelp.

“Do  _you_  like it?” he asked back, smearing the oil over his swollen shaft and then making some drip over the head from his fingertips as he pulled his hand back. It was an act of worship but not a prayer: provoking a god maybe, blackmailing him for favours. Ben’s head lolled back, his lips parting for a gasp. Armitage rubbed a fat droplet into the slit, listening to Ben’s whimper with his head tilted. “Isn’t it nicer? Nice and wet.” He closed his fist around Ben’s cock and tugged at it; it slipped free from his grasp.

“Holy fuck,” Ben rasped.

“Something like that.” Armitage poured more oil into his palms, rubbed them together, and then ran his hands up over Ben’s torso. He oiled up his stomach, his chest, paying special attention to the hard pecs. The rich oil and Armitage’s soft hands felt incredible on his skin, straight out of a wet-dream. He was being unmade, and Armitage was thriving on it.

“That’s it Armie, feels so good,” he said, voice deeper than usual with mind-blowing arousal. “You’re so fucking good—”

“Is ritualistic sex your kink, or will it actually work?” Armitage asked, bowing down to lap at Ben’s neck.

“Can’t you feel that it’s already working?” Ben whispered, getting hold of his wrists and guiding  Armitage’s hands back to his chest, making him feel his breath and his rapid heartbeat. Armitage looked him in the eyes, uncertain but excited, pupils dark and fat. “Take what you need,” Ben whispered. Armitage curled his fingers, clawing at Ben’s chest as they started breathing together. He wriggled around a bit, adjusting his position so he was straddling Ben’s hips. Ben followed his rhythm, mimicking cautiously how his breath made his chest rise and fall. He arched up, grinding his hips up into Armitage’s, making their cocks rub together. Armitage cried out, grinding down and arching his back.  

“Do it again,” he demanded.

“You do it,” Ben whispered.

“Fuck,” Armitage mumbled. He licked his lips, pushing his twitching cock against Ben’s. “Fuck,” he repeated with feeling. “Oh fuck yes please I love it.”

“C’mhere,” Ben murmured, pulling him into a tight embrace so they were pressed together. He put his hands over the small of Armitage’s back, pushing him down gently. Armitage mewled as their erections slid over each other, hard and dripping wet.   

“I’m going to come,” he said.

“Not now.” Ben’s hands sank lower, gripping Armitage’s ass. It was small and soft, just two handfuls, fitting into his palms perfectly. He spread Armitage’s lovely cheeks as Armitage rocked against him, teasing a finger over the rim. Armitage buried his face into Ben’s neck, whining and squirming. “Would you like me to finger you while we do this?” Ben whispered into Armitage’s hair. He felt him shiver.  _You’re perfect, you’re perfect,_  he kept thinking, his whole body singing with pleasure.  

“Yes please,” Armitage whispered, his breath tickling Ben’s neck. He was breathing and his skin was warming up, his cock burning hot as it dragged over Ben’s. It was the best thing. “I don’t think I’ll be able to take your dick though, I’m sorry, I thought I could but bloody hell this thing is huge.”  

Ben chuckled, pressing the tip of his finger deeper. “It’s okay. We’ll have other opportunities.”

“Oh fuck,” Armitage gasped. “Fuck, please, yes— Am I any good, am I—”

“You’re amazing,” Ben told him earnestly, desperately. “You’re like you were made just for me, I don’t even know—I’ll never forget this, Armitage, even if we never—You’ll never be forgotten.”

Saying that changed something. Ben couldn’t say what exactly; maybe it was how Armitage gulped for air, like he actually needed to breathe. When Ben got some oil on his middle finger and pushed it into him all the way to the second knuckle, the ring of muscle twitched, and he was so warm inside.  

Armitage’s movements got more erratic, fumbling and awkward, life-like; he slid past Ben’s cock several times, too overwhelmed to aim right and ending up rubbing against his pubic bone or his stomach. Ben fucked him with his finger, hard and fast, just how Armitage wanted it. His moans were muffled as he buried his face into the crook of Ben’s shoulders, lips pressed against his skin. Armitage screamed as a violent tremble overtook him, muscles closing around Ben’s finger, and then he collapsed atop him, boneless.

“Did you just come?” Ben asked, thrilled.

“Dry orgasm,” Armitage panted.  “Holy shit. Can I suck you off?”

“Huh?”

“Can I?” He pulled back, searching for an answer in Ben’s eyes, his gaze flicking over his face. He looked a wild thing, his hair untamed and cheeks red.

“Yeah,” Ben said, flushing. He’d made a ghost blush; he’d made a ghost come; he’d taken the virginity of one. There was something so fucking dirty about it, and something beautiful in his last thought before Armitage’s pretty lips touched his cock:  _he’s not almost human_  again;  _he never stopped being human._

He fisted the sheepskin as Armitage went down on him, kicking out involuntary. Armitage pulled back and spat. “Ew. The oil doesn’t taste as good as it smells.”

“You don’t have to—” Ben started. Armitage got his discarded underwear and started rubbing off the oil; unfortunately his careless, rough touches were just about perfect, and Ben came yelling his name, spilling a generous load over the poor boxers.

“Well,” Armitage said when Ben was finished and staring at the ceiling in mild disbelief, “I’m never wearing these again. I’m keeping them though. You know. For reasons.”

“How do your clothes work anyway,” Ben panted, seeing dancing stars. Armitage dropped the soaked boxers; they made a very embarrassing sound as they landed.

“I remember them.” He crawled over Ben and kissed him. He was right: the oil tasted horrible, especially mixed with the wine’s aftertaste. They both frowned.

“Do you remember your toothbrush?” Ben asked.

“You can just give me one like a gentleman.”  

Ben smiled and kissed his neck. He kissed it again, this time a bit bewildered, and kept his lips there, just above the artery. “Armie,” he mumbled.

“What?”

Ben pulled back a bit so he could look at him, and put his thumb over the jumping jugular. “You have a heartbeat.”  

Armitage’s face fell. He sat up, straddling Ben, and put his hand over his own chest. He gasped out a shocked laugh and grabbed his wrist, closing his eyes as he counted the beats.

A strong, healthy heartbeat.  

Ben got up on his elbows so he could see him better, marvel at this moment. He’d never noticed before that Armitage had the lightest hint of freckles over his shoulders; maybe Armitage hadn’t remembered them.

“You fucking did it,” Ben said softly.

“What did I do?” Armitage asked. He looked scared, still gripping his wrist like he was holding onto himself, afraid of vanishing. “What happened?”

“My best guess is that you can now take and maintain a fully human form,” Ben mused. “I wouldn’t be surprised if you could still walk through walls though.”

“I never  _did that_ ,” Armitage said, offended. “I use doors like a civilised person. I may pass through them on occasion, but—Oh fucking bollocks. I’m alive, am I not? Sort of.” He took a deep breath. He’d never looked more beautiful: vulnerable, confused, entirely human. “Did you fuck me alive, or what?”

“It was you. You took my energy and you felt alive again. So you were alive; so you are. You let go of your doubts and disbeliefs, and now we’re here.”

“We’re here,” Armitage repeated, looking around the circle. He frowned at the objects marking the cardinal directions and the small altar, and then he surveyed the room; the black walls covered with framed pictures of unsettling figures, and finally, his gaze settled over the window. It was just about to rain and Millicent was trying to get in. He got to his feet, stepped over the circle (what could harm him?) and walked to the bed, naked and glorious. He climbed over the mattress, opened the window, and gathered up his cat. Ben watched him kiss the top of her head and whisper some sweet nonsense; his heart was about to burst.

He swallowed down an embarrassing sob and asked, voice a bit gruff, “Join me for a shower? Don’t bring the cat.”

“I wasn’t planning to, you knob.” He hugged Millicent close and kissed her nose. Like he needed to look even more adorable.

“I could fuck you,” Ben offered. “Like your thighs or something. And then we’ll see.”  

Armitage scoffed. “We’ll see,” he repeated. “Sounds like a plan. Not a very good one, but a plan nevertheless.” He smiled at Ben, hopeful, timid, tender.

“Come on, then,” Ben said.

The rain arrived.

**Author's Note:**

>  **Content warnings:** Armitage is a ghost; the tone of the fic is very upbeat and it has a happy ending, but poor chap still died / Armitage’s death is recounted in an italicised block text; skip if you’d rather not read it (massive spoiler: Hǝ pᴉǝp ᴉu ɐ ɟᴉɹǝ' ɐup qɹǝupol ᴉs pᴉɹǝɔʇlʎ ɹǝsdousᴉqlǝ˙) / brief mention of drinking blood / brief discussion about necrophilia without any graphic details; be assured that Armitage has a very good explanation why getting naughty with a ghost is not necrophilia / minor case of stalking; addressed in the text / the 6th encounter includes a scene with some dub-conish undertones (in more detail: Hux wants to have sex, and Ben refuses despite wanting him bad, thinking it’s for Hux’s own good; Hux is upset by the refusal, but doesn’t attempt anything physical, and relents quickly. The situation is rather complex. Nobody ends up feeling violated.) / spoiler(ish): Wǝuʇᴉous oɟ ɔnlʇs / Snoke is mentioned; you guessed it, he’s a horrible person (spoiler: Hǝ ɐddɹoɐɔɥǝp qǝu oulᴉuǝ' ɐup ɔouʌᴉuɔǝp ɥᴉɯ ʇo ɾoᴉu ɐ ɔnlʇ˙)
> 
> Please feel free to contact me on tumblr if you feel you need to know more to decide whether this fic is for you!
> 
> Sideships include Finn/Poe and past Ben/Poe
> 
> This fic was a collaboration between me and bona-mana (7porgs), who suggested the main plot of Armie being a ghost under Ben's bed, inspired me, made corrections, and provided me with several headcanons; I worked hard to bring our ideas to life and written the story from start to finish. 
> 
> I'd like to thank PaperKnights for the wonderful beta service. You can find me on tumblr @longstoryshortikilledhim  
> there's a [moodboard](http://longstoryshortikilledhim.tumblr.com/post/166957010181/the-ghost-under-my-bed-bens-house-is-haunted) and a[ photoset](http://longstoryshortikilledhim.tumblr.com/post/171387158231/longstoryshortikilledhim-the-ghost-under-my) for the fic for your reblogging consideration


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